ffju  6.  : 


Ex  Htbris 


SEYMOUR    DURST 


~t '  ~Fort  mewu    ^4m/li.r<Hfm,  oj>  Je  Mtrrthataruj 


When  you  leave,  phase  leave  this  hook 

Because  it  has  heen  said 
"Ever  thing  comes  t'  him  who  waits 

Except  a  loaned  hook." 


Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/mysteriesmiserieOOpemb 


Lv 


t^i 


I 


THE  MYSTERIES  AND  MISERIES 


OF   THE 


GKEAT   METEOPOLIS, 


SOME  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  COUNTRY: 


BEING   THE 


DISGUISES  AND  SURPRISES  OF  A  NEW-YORK 
JOURNALIST. 


By  "A.  P.," 

THE    AMATEUR    VAGABOND 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  GURNET. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

549    &    551     BROADWAY. 
1875. 


4% 


p4} 


;s 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1814,  by 

D.   APPLETON   &   CO., 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


P  KEF ACE 


More  than  one  class  of  persons,  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  will  be  apt  to  consider  that  an  ordinary  sense 
of  propriety  should  lead  me  to  apologize  for  publish- 
ing, for  the  benefit  of  one  half  the  world,  some  of  my 
varied  experiences  while  investigating  how  the  other 
half  lives. 

There  are  the  gamblers,  prison-jailers,  and  keepers 
of  disreputable  houses,  for  instance,  who  will  strongly 
object  to  having  the  light  of  day  shed  o'er  their  pecul- 
iar and  very  elastic  mode  of  earning  a  living.  Thieves, 
tramps,  beggars,  and  curb-stone  singers,  too,  are  not 
likely  to  rub  their  hands  gleefully  at  the  expose  of  their 
little  devices  for  subsisting  on  the  charity  or  at  the 
expense  of  others. 

Again,  there  is  that  multitudinous  class  who  love 
to  isolate  themselves  in  their  own  individuality  and 
its  immediate  aristocratic  surroundings.  No,  indeed ! 
Their   luxurious   firesides    are    not   to   be     contrasted 


iv  PREFACE. 

with  the  so-called  accommodations  of  the  cold,  damp, 
cellar  lodging-house.  They  do  not  know  and  they  do 
not  care  to  know  any  thing  about  the  thousand  repul- 
sive or  soul-saddening  scenes  which  are  daily,  hourly, 
momentarily,  being  enacted  almost  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  their  studiously  built-up  throne  of  selfish  ease 
and  content ! 

And,  then,  there  are  those  of  the  dolce  far  niente 
disposition,  who  will  quickly  exclaim,  "  Write  him 
down  an  ass  for  undergoing  such  very  unpleasant  ex- 
periences ; "  much  in  the  same  spirit  which  influenced 
a  deaf  old  lady  who  sat  in  the  front  row  of  seats  in  the 
Peabody  Institute  at  Salem,  Massachusetts,  one  even- 
ing, when  I  was  relating  jny  adventures  "  Up  and  Down 
Mont  Blanc,"  and  who  exclaimed  aloud  to  her  daugh- 
ter at  the  conclusion  of  the  first  part — that  is,  when  we 
had  reached  the  summit  of  the  mountain :  "  Well,  now, 
he  don't  look  such  a  fool !  " 

But  to  none  such  as  these,,  should  they  happen  to 
be  remembered  among  my  readers,  do  I  propose  to 
offer  any  thing  in  the  way  of  the  amende  honorable. 
How  could  they  possibly  expect  an  apology  from  so 
hybrid  an  individual  as  an  Amateur  Vagabond  %  No  ! 
These  sketches  were  not  written  for  them.  I  respect- 
fully dedicate  them  to  those  who,  with  broader  views, 
are  willing  and  desirous  to  know  something  of  those 


PREFACE.  v 

various  phases  of  existence,  of  which  their  occupations, 
their  associations,  or  the  even  tenor  of  their  far-off  lives, 
inevitably  or  naturally,  keep  them  in  ignorance. 

That  I  have  submitted  to  many  inconveniences — 
nay,  that  I  have  undergone  privations  and  faced  dan- 
gers, while  pursuing  my  adventures  as  an  Amateur 
Vagabond,  I  have  only  a  too  lively  remembrance.  But, 
how  could  I  possibly  pen  sketches  from  real  life,  had  I 
not  been  ready  to  do  so  ?  My  sole  aim  has  been  to 
describe  scenes  of  grave  or  gay  interest  which  I  have 
actually  witnessed,  odd  situations  in  which  I  have 
found  myself  placed,  and  petites  comedies  or  dramas  in 
which  I  have  positively  taken  a  part.  I  have  carefully 
avoided  putting  on  finishing  touches  of  imaginative 
coloring  or  even  the  very  thinnest  coat  of  varnish; 
being  convinced  that  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale  is,  after 
all,  the  most  interesting.  Such  as  my  sketches  are,  I 
commend  them  to  the  reader  in  his  or  her  spells  of 
good-nature,  simply  pleading  for  faith  in  their  honesty 

and  truth. 

"A.  P." 


r- 


CONTENTS 


PAQB 

THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK               1 

THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR 30 

AFTER  THE  GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  HOUSES 46 

A  VISIT  TO  DAVY  JONES'S  LOCKER 71 

THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR 82 

THE  AMATEUR  CURB-STONE  SINGER 100 

LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL 118 

NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE  TOMBS 159 

STRING  'EM  UP -   ....  179 

THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER 181 

DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE 195 

LIFE  LN  A  CIRCUS 218 

A  RIDE  ON  AN  ENGINE 243 

A  NIGHT  LN  AN  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE 251 

THE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM 269 

PAINTING  A  LA  MODE 282 

THE  POOR  PRISONER 299 

THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAMP 327 

THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET 351 

l' BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,  SIR?" 373 

THE  PEEP-SHOW  MAN .  399 

UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC 411 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(FROM   PHOTOGRAPIIS   BY   GUEXEY.) 


PAGE 

PORTRAIT Frontispiece. 

THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR 30 

THE  AMATEUR  DIVER 71 

THE  CURB-STONE  SINGERS 100 

THE  AMATEUR  CANAL-BOATMAN 118 

THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER 181 

THE  CIRCUS-RLNG 218 

THE  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE 251 

THE  AMATEUR  PRISONER        ...-..- 299 

TnE  AMATEUR  TRAMP 327 

THE  ZINC-MINER 378 

ON  MONT  BLANC 411 


ADVENTURES  OF 


AN  AMATEUR  VAGABOND 


THE  PURLIEUS   OP  WATER  STREET  AFTER 

DARK. 

Whex  is  a  man  not  a  man  ?  When  is  a  woman 
not  a  woman  ? 

When  they  dwell  in  Water  Street,  New  York. 

This  is  a  novel  answer  to  a  very  old  conundrum; 
but,  unlike  its  predecessors,  it  is  intended  by  no  means 
to  be  a  facetious  one ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  intended 
to  convey  a  sad  truth  in  plain,  sober  language.  To 
those  of  my  readers  who  may  be  inclined  to  dispute 
this  proposition,  I  say :  Go  and  see  these  places,  study 
the  phases  of  human,  or  rather  inhuman,  life  to  be 
witnessed  any  and  every  day  in  the  purlieus  of  Water 
Street,  and  then  conscientiously  say  whether  you  think 
it  possible  for  a  man  to  remain  a  man,  or  for  a  woman 
to  remain  a  woman,  when  subjected  to  the  evil  influ- 
ences of  that  infamous  locality. 


2      '  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

The  neighborhood  of  Water  Street  is  about  the 
most  notorious  in  the  metropolis  for  deeds  of  violence, 
flagrant  vice,  and  scenes  of  debauchery.  It  abounds 
in  lodging-houses  for  sailors,  liquor-stores  of  the  low- 
est class  without  number,  dance-houses  and  concert- 
saloons  (at  the  very  thought  of  which  poor  Decency 
hides  her  eyes  in  agony),  and  various  other  low  places 
of  amusement.  Brothels  of  the  worst  description 
swarm  in  all  directions ;  the  wretched,  half-drunken, 
shameless  inmates  being  permitted  by  the  police  to 
flaunt  their  sin  and  finery  and  ply  their  hateful  trade 
openly  by  day  or  night,  without  let  or  hinderance. 
The  mixture  and  recklessness  of  vice,  the  unblushing 
effrontery  with  which  it  is  carried  on,  the  barefaced 
employment  of  loose  women  to  entrap  sailors,  and  the 
apparent  carelessness  or  interestedness  of  the  authori- 
ties in  not  suppressing  these  resorts,  is  a  standing  dis- 
grace to  the  city  of  New  York.  The  infamous  proprie- 
tors of  these  dance  and  sailors'  lodging-houses  seem  to 
consider  that  a  staff  of  prostitutes  is  a  necessary  part 
of  their  stock  in  trade ;  a  stock,  if  any  thing,  more 
remunerative  than  the  sale  of  their  villainous  whisky. 

At  night  the  quarrels,  fights,  and  noisy  disturbances, 
make  the  darkness  hideous,  and  are  of  such  frequency 
that  none  can  hope  for  a  night's  rest  until  they  have 
been  inured  by  habit  to  the  ways  and  doings  of  this 
terrestrial  pandemonium.  Fights  and  desperate  en- 
counters among  intoxicated  men  and  women  occur 
night  after  night  and  are  looked  upon  as  a  regular  part 


THE  PUKLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.         3 

of  the  twenty-four  hours'  programme.  Sailors,  canal- 
men,  dockmen,  and  landsmen,  are  continually  fighting 
about  the  women  who  are  attaehees  to  these  establish- 
ments, and  it  is  only  too  common  to  see  the  most  desper- 
ate encounters  between  the  women  themselves,  who  be- 
come perfect  demons  under  such  circumstances,  and  to 
see  the  lookers-on  encourage  the  combatants  instead  of 
separating  them.  These  wretched  creatures  have  ar- 
rived at  such  a  pass  that  they  are  actually  compelled  to 
madden  themselves  with  chink  in  order  to  become  suffi- 
ciently immoral  and  disgusting.  The  use  of  deadly 
weapons,  too,  is  so  common  that  murder  provokes  no 
sentiment  of  horror  among  the  denizens  of  Water  Street, 
but  only  excites  in  them  a  morbid  curiosity  to  see  the 
murderer  as  he  is  hurried  off  to  jail  by  the  police — if 
they  know  him,  to  shake  him  by  the  hand,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  murdered  man. 

And,  if  they  have  homes,  what  are  they  ?  The  men, 
too  often  confirmed  drunkards,  and  consequently  con- 
tinually out  of  work  and  unable  to  support  their  fami- 
lies honestly  ;  the  women — oh,  horrible  thought !  earn- 
ing the  wages  of  sin  with  the  consent  of  their  hus- 
bands ;  the  children  literally  brought  up  in  the  gutter ; 
clothes,  furniture,  bedding,  all  gone  to  the  pawnshop ; 
the  whole  family  huddled  together  at  night  on  a  dirty 
husk  or  straw  mattress,  or  on  the  bare  boards  in  one 
ill-built,  badly-ventilated,  and  filthy  room,  where  any 
pretense  at  decency  is  impossible.  What  is  the  inevi- 
table result  \     The  men  and  women  only  care  for  their 


4  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

daily  allowance  of  ruin,  no  matter  how  obtained;  the 
boys  are  all  thieves  at  ten  years  of  age;  at  fourteen, 
the  girls  are  all  prostitutes. 

In  such  a  neighborhood  it  is  not  to  be  expected 
that  any  person  of  respectability  will  reside ;  so,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  professional  men,  such  as  doctors 
and  others,  whose  ties  confine  them  to  the  spot,  these 
disciples  of  vice  and  immorality  have  it  all  to  them- 
selves. How  many  men  have  been  fortunately  kept 
from  the  commission  of  sin  and  crime  by  the  want  of 
opportunity !  But,  in  this  spot,  that  devil,  opportunity, 
is  ready  made  to  hand  ! 

One  night,  I  walked  into  the  Oak-Street  Station- 
house,  and  asked  the  captain  of  the  Fourth  Precinct  to 
allow  one  of  his  detectives  to  escort  me  through  these 
terrible  slums.  The  captain  received  me  most  cour- 
teously, and  immediately  told  off  an  experienced  man  to 
accompany  and  protect  me  ;  "  a  man,"  he  said,  "  whose 
especial  duty  it  is  to  look  after  these  dens  of  vice  and 
immorality,  and  who  will  show  you  some  sights  that 
will  make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  Though,"  he  add- 
ed, "  things  have  improved  a  little  of  late,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  business  "  (what  a  business !)  "  being  so 
blown  upon." 

I  was  treated  to  a  spice  of  Water-Street  life  while 
awaiting  in  the  station-house  the  few  preparations  the 
detective  thought  it  necessary  to  make.  The  inspector 
on  duty  was  hearing  a  charge  brought  by  a  fine-looking 
young   sailor   of  the   United   States   Navy   against   a 


THE  PURLIEUS   OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.         5 

boarding-liouse  crimp  for  assault.  It  appeared  that  the 
crimp  had  been  endeavoring  to  fleece  the  sailor,  and, 
finding  that  his  rapacious  demands  were  not  likely  to 
be  complied  with,  had  coolly  knocked  him  down  and 
then  brutally  stamped  his  left  eye  out  with  the  heel  of 
his  boot.  At  this  moment  a  poorly-clad,  wretched- 
looking  woman  entered  the  station-house,  and,  in  ner- 
vous, agitated  tones,  charged  her  husband,  who  she 
asserted  had  a  considerable  sum  of  money  about  him, 
with  refusing  to  give  her  the  means  of  obtaining  the 
necessaries  of  life.  After  much  mutual  recrimination, 
the  inspector  ordered  the  man  to  be  searched.  This 
was  done  most  rigidly,  but  nothing  was  found  in  his 
many  mysteriously-placed  pockets.  On  unlacing  his 
boots,  however,  one  hundred  dollars  in  bills  was  un- 
earthed from  one  and  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars  in 
gold  from  the  other. 

But  the  detective  was  now  ready,  and,  wishing  the 
captain  "  Good -evening,"  I  started  to  do  the  slums  of 
Water  Street  after  dark,  and  study  that  abyss  of  degra- 
dation into  which  it  is  possible  for  poor  humanity  to 
fall.  As  we  left  the  station-house,  I  inquired  of  the 
detective  whether  this  neighborhood  was  more  densely 
populated  than  other  parts  of  the  city.  I  soon  received 
an  affirmative  answer  of  the  most  practical  kind ;  for 
we  were  close  to  the  entrances  of  two  perfect  hives  of 
humanity  in  Cherry  Street,  known  as  Single  and  Double 
Alleys.  Each  of  these  alleys  is  a  single  tenement- 
house.     Single  Alley,  so  called  because  it  has  only  one 


6     '  THE  AKATEUR  VAGABOND. 

face,  is  capable  of  holding  (not  accommodating)  about 
seventy  families ;  Double  Alley,  which  has  two  faces 
and  two  entrances,  will  hold  almost  one  hundred  and  for- 
ty families.  Many  of  these  families,  which  average  five 
in  number,  take  in  lodgers  and  boarders.  On  this  occa- 
sion a  tolerable  degree  of  peace  and  quietness  reigned 
throughout  these  dark  and  dingy  buildings,  but  they 
are  often  the  theatre  of  most  fearful  scenes.  These  two 
enormous  tenement-houses  are  only  about  seven  or 
eight  feet  apart ;  consequently,  when  a  drunken  fight 
takes  place  between  its  inhabitants  and  the  police,  it  is 
a  very  serious  affair.  Even  in  the  winter,  the  odors 
from  its  gutters  are  any  thing  but  pleasant ;  what  must 
they  then  be  in  the  summer-time  ! ' 

At  the  corner  of  Cherry  and  AVater  Streets,  we  met 
a  veteran  female  candidate  for  admission  into  the  Ine- 
briate Asylum.  She  was  at  least  fifty-five  years  of  age, 
and  bore  on  her  face  all  the  marks  of  forty  years'  war 
with  whisky.  Her  face  was  bespattered  with  mud, 
her  hair  streamed  in  all  directions,  her  tattered  bonnet 
hung  down  on  her  back — only  prevented  from  falling 
by  the  twisted  knot  in  which  the  strings  had  become 
entangled  ;  shoeless,  stockingless,  she  hung  with  one 
arm  lovingly  entwined  round  the  lamp-post,  the  other 
was  solemnly  beating  time  to  her  maudlin  music.  She 
was  evidently  the  imaginary  victim  of  misplaced  attach- 

1  Two  years  ago  the  authorities  compelled  the  owners  of  these  tene- 
ment-houses to  shut  them  up  for  a  while  and  render  them  more  fit  for  hu- 
man habitation. 


TILE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.         7 

ment  to  some  gay  Lothario.  Sublimely  innocent  of  the 
original  tune,  she  chanted  to  a  sort  of  low  dirge  the 
well-known  old  French  ballad,  "  They  Marched  through 
the  Town  with  their  Banners  so  gay."  As  we  passed 
her,  she  had  just  reached  the  chorus,  and  was  declaim- 
ing with  drunken  emphasis,  "  An'  she  capshn  wish 
she  whishkers  cor  a  shly  glanshe  o'  me."  Poor  cap- 
tain !  He  little  knew  of  the  devoted  love  so  ardently 
burning  for  him  in  that  rum-sodden  bosom.  As  she 
stood  there,  the  gas-light  throwing  a  ghastly  glare  on 
her  face,  she  looked  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  the 
witches  in  "Macbeth."  Leaving  this  poor  victim  of 
whisky,  we  passed  along  Water  Street,  and,  opening  the 
door  of  one  of  the  more  quiet-looking  houses,  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  presence  of  Tommy  Hadden — a  little, 
sharp-faced  man,  with  a  restless,  wandering  eye.  He 
was  seated  at  his  business-desk,  absorbed,  as  he  told  us, 
in  calculating  how  much  he  could  afford  to  give  for  a 
house  of  a  similar  character  to  his  own,  which  is  now  for 
sale  a  little  higher  up  the  street.  Tommy  is  a  decided 
money-maker,  and  prides  himself  considerably  on  his 
financial  abilities.  Unless  his  looks  very  much  belie 
him,  he  is  certainly  one  of  the  hardest  and  worst  of  the 
Water-Street  notorieties.  His  occupation  consists  in 
boarding  sailors,  which  implies  fleecing  them ;  and  in 
providing  captains  of  ships  with  a  man  or  two,  when 
they  are  unable  to  make  up  their  full  complement  of 
sailors,  which  means  shanghaieing  them.  His  plan  of 
operations  is  this:    One  of  the  numerous  runners  he 


8      '  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

employs  contrives  to  fasten  himself  on  some  unsuspect- 
ing fellow,  of  course  a  stranger,  who  is  the  worse  foi 
liquor,  and,  good-naturedly  proposing  to  stand  him  a 
drink,  lands  him  "  with  a  gentle  air  of  accident "  at 
Tommy  Hadden's.  The  poor  fellow's  drink  is  drugged, 
he  soon  becomes  insensible,  and  is  quietly  put  away  up- 
stairs till  a  convenient  opportunity  arises  for  smuggling 
him  on  board  ship.  The  victim  on  coming  to  his  senses 
finds  to  his  horror  and  amazement  that  he  is  at  sea,  out 
of  sight  of  land,  and  that  he  has  no  alternative  but  to 
work  before  the  mast  on  a  voyage  to  China  or  Aus- 
tralia. By  the  time  the  return- voyage  is  ended,  it  often 
happens  that  men  have  become  reconciled  to,  or  have 
even  learned  to  like,  their  new  mode  of  life,  and,  after  a 
inn  ashore  and  spending  all  their  money  in  Water 
Street,  they  will  ship  themselves  of  their  own  accord 
for  another  voyage.1  While  talking  to  Hadden  at  his 
door,  we  suddenly  heard  piercing  screams  coming  from 
a  neighboring  alley.  Our  detective,  placing  his  hand 
to  his  ear,  listened  for  one  moment  to  catch  the  exact 
direction  from  which  the  screams  came.  "  This  way, 
sir,  this  way,"  he  exclaimed ;  and  we  started  at  a  run. 
A  minute  afterward  we  were  quietly  watching  a  regu- 
lar, good  street-fight.  Four  or  five  sailors,  half  a  dozen 
Irish  laborers,  and  five  or  six  women,  were  having  a 
lively  time  of  it — men  and  women  indiscriminately 
fighting,  kicking,  biting,  tearing  out  one  another's  hair 

1  Tommy  Hadden  is  now  serving  out  a  sentence  of  ten  years  in  the 
State-prison,  for  shanghaieing  a  sailor. 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.         9 

by  liaiidsful,  shouting,  yelling,  cursing,  and  using  the 
most  filthy  imprecations.  Odd  bits  of  garbage,  stones, 
and  brickbats  were  flying  in  all  directions,  and  in  the 
thick  of  the  fight  were  two  unfortunate  officers,  who 
were  using  their  clubs  pretty  freely,  though  not  unne- 
cessarily so.  A  powerfully-built,  muscular  she-devil 
(she  would  have  done  for  one  of  Bulwer's  female  gla- 
diators in  "  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii  ")  had  got  an  un- 
happy man's  head  in  chancery,  and  was  administering 
some  fearful  blows  with  a  large  iron  cooking-ladle  ;  the 
man's  wife  had  the  fingers  of  both  hands  wound  in  his 
assailant's  hair,  and  clung  to  her  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
bull-doo*.  One  of  the  Irishmen  had  a  sailor  on  the 
ground.  With  one  hand  he  clutched  the  poor  fellow's 
hair,  and  repeatedly  dashed  his  head  on  the  pavement, 
his  other  hand  was  firmly  gripped  in  the  sailor's  teeth. 
This  scene  went  on  for  a  minute  or  two,  when  suddenly, 
without  a  moment's  warning,  all  simultaneously  com- 
menced a  furious  onslaught  on  the  policemen,  to  whose 
assistance,  at  the  risk  of  broken  heads,  we  were  on  the 
point  of  going,  when,  fortunately  for  us,  a  posse  of  po- 
lice arrived,  and  at  once  "  the  fight  was  o'er,  the  battle 
done."  The  combatants  were  all  marched  off  to  the 
station-house,  a  long  file  of  bleeding  heads  and  disfig- 
ured faces,  all  indignantly  remonstrating  against  being 
taken  into  custody  for  so  innocent  an  amusement  as  the 
breaking  of  one  another's  heads. 

Returning  into  Water  Street,  we  entered  one  of  the 

notorious  sailors'  dance-houses ;  a  dirty,  dingy,  miserable- 
2 


V 
10  THE   AMATEUR    VAGABOND. 

looting  place,  though  brilliantly  lighted.  At  the  inevi- 
table bar  stood  eight  or  ten  men,  whose  physiognomy  at 
once  told  us  they  were  thieves.  The  air  of  suspicion 
with  which  they  viewed  us  and  their  evident  discom- 
fort, as  long  as  I  and  the  detective  remained  in  the  place, 
confirmed  this  impression.  Passing  into  the  dancing- 
room,  which  is  separated  from  the  bar  by  a  partition, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  motley  assemblage,  composed 
of  two  or  three  sailors,  a  few  canal-men,  eight  or  ten 
slangy-looking  lads,  from  fourteen  to  twenty  years 
of  age,  a  select  assortment  of  jail-birds,  a  candy-and- 
apple  seller,  and  about  a  dozen  of  the  fattest,  coarsest, 
most  brutal-looking  women,  with  one  solitary  scraggy 
one,  dressed  as  ballet-girls.  These  women,  who  were 
of  all  ages,  from  five-and-twenty  to  forty,  the  greater 
part  of  them  old,  were  grandly  parading  about,  or  fond- 
ling their  unlucky  admirers  on  the  benches  which  ran 
round  the  walls.  Their  costume  was  of  the  slightest 
description  possible.  A  dress  which,  taking  the  waist- 
band as  a  starting-point,  reached  about  half  way  to  the 
knees  and  half-way  to  the,  shoulders,  made  of  cotton 
or  some  similar  material  and  of  a  brilliant  color,  a  few 
tawdry  glass  beads  strung  round  the  neck,  a  gaudily- 
embroidered  Scotch  bonnet,  ornamented  with  feathers, 
tinseled  flowers,  and  other  gewgaws,  a  pair  of  dirty 
white  or  tartan  stockings,  and  Broadway  boots  with 
very  high  heels,  comprised  all  the  toilet  of  which  they 
boasted.  I  ventured  to  remark  to  the  proprietor  of  the 
place  that  their  dresses  were  rather  scant,  adding  as  a 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.       H 

scape-goat,  for  such  a  cold  night.  "Oh,  they've  got 
enough  for  the  purposes  of  decency"  he  replied.  Poor 
Decency  !  how  she  would  blush  to  hear  her  name  men- 
tioned in  such  a  den  I  Of  course,  smoking,  chewing, 
and  bad  whisky,  were  in  full  force.  The  proprietor, 
who  was  also  band-master,  then  took  his  seat  in  the 
little  orchestra,  which  comprised  a  violin,  a  banjo,  and 
a  tambourine,  and  calling  out,  "  Now,  young  ladies,  a 
quadrille,  if  you  please,"  led  off  a  few  bars  of  prelude. 
The  quadrille  was  gone  through,  with  a  good  many  airs 
and  graces  on  the  part  of  the  ladies  and  a  good  deal  of 
ludicrous  buffoonery  on  the  part  of  the  men.  The  qua- 
drille was  followed  by  a  series  of  Irish  jigs,  and  then  by 
the  polka.  However  amusing  it  may  be  personally,  it  is 
certainly  an  ungraceful  exhibition  to  see  two  drunken 
sailors  pirouetting  together  or  two  men  waltzing  with 
one  woman.  Sailors,  however,  do  not  much  affect  round 
dances;  they  prefer  the  "shuffles."  Their  awkward 
sea-legged  strides  are  scarcely  suitable  to  the  polka  or 
the  valse,  though  hap23ily  the  ladies'  dresses  are  not 
long  enough  to  run  the  risk  of  being  trodden  on.  One 
sailor,  who  stood  up  near  us,  facetiously  asked  his  part- 
ner "  why  she  didn't  wear  straps,"  and  then  slapping 
on  the  shoulder  the  solitary  scraggy-looking  one,  who 
had  very  long  thin  legs,  in  a  way  that  aroused  her  mod- 
est indignation,  addressed  her  as  u  old  number  eleven." 
Our  detective  here  called  up  one  of  the  girls,  whose 
manner  and  language  perfectly  astonished  me.  She 
said  she  had  been  there  seven  years,  that  she  was  a  girl 


12  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

of  good  family,  and  very  well  educated ;  that  her  mother 
was  a  widow  lady  of  independent  means,  and  resided 
in  Scotland.  She  told  us  that  she  got  into  trouble  when 
young,  and  was  obliged  to  run  away  from  home  to  hide 
her  disgrace.  She  added :  "  Thank  God,  my  poor  mother 
knows  nothing  about  me ;  it  would  kill  her  if  she  did ; 
she  believes  me  to  be  dead.  Ah,  sir,  you  do  not  know 
what  a  number  of  girls  in  this  neighborhood  are  well 
educated  and  of  good  family.  There  are  many  that  can 
speak  two  or  three  languages,  who  could  at  one  time 
play  beautifully  upon  the  harp  and  piano  and  sing 
operatic  music,  but,  having  once  got  into  this  mode  of 
life,  they  cannot  shake  it  off.  There's  many  and  many  a 
girl  in  these  houses  whose  parents  live  in  style  up-town." 
The  next  place  we  entered  was  a  boarding  as  well 
as  a  dance-house.  The  bar  and  dancing  arrangements 
are  pretty  much  alike  in  all  of  them.  In  this  house 
the  landlord  came  forward  and  expressed  the  great 
pleasure  it  would  give  him  to  show  us  the  sleeping- 
rooms,  the  internal  arrangements  of  which,  he  assured 
us,  were  elegant  in  the  extreme.  They  were  ranged 
round  the  sides  of  a  square  room,  into  which  all  the 
doors  opened,  and  gave  us  the  idea  of  a  good-sized 
prison-cell.  Though  necessarily  very  badly  ventilated, 
they  were  well  whitewashed  and  the  bedding  and  linen 
really  looked  clean  and  nice.  For  the  use  of  one  of 
these  "  charming  little  apartments,"  as  the  landlord 
termed  them,  the  charge  is  three  dollars,  but  this  sum 
includes  breakfast  in  the  morning  and   sundry  other 


THE  rURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.        13 

privileges.  In  the  next  house  we  visited,  the  proprietor 
came  up  to  us  and  with  a  jaunty  air  asked  us  if  we 
would  like  to  see  Punch  and  Judy.  The  drama  of 
Punch  and  Judy,  as  now  exhibited  in  the  streets,  is  a  sad 
enough  degeneration  from  its  original — the  sacred  play 
of  Pontius  cam  Judceis  of  the  dark  ages — but  this  par- 
ticular form  of  it  was  unusually  vulgar  and  degraded, 
and  I  should  hope  peculiar  to  this  place.  The  faithless 
Mr.  Punch  was  supposed  to  have  been  dragged  into  the 
divorce  courts  by  the  exasperated  Judy,  and  a  mock 
trial  took  place.  The  whole  exhibition  was  of  the 
most  disgusting  and  filthy  description. 

We  entered  house  after  house  of  this  character  in 
Cherry,  James,  and  Water  Streets,  but  there  is  very  lit- 
tle difference  in  them — they  are  all  equally  low  and 
brutal.  We  counted  no  fewer  than  twenty-seven  "  Sail- 
ors' Retreats,"  as  they  are  called,  in  Water  Street  alone. 
We  also  visited  some  of  the  bucket-shops  which  are 
everywhere  to  be  found  in  the  Fourth  Ward.  At  the 
bucket-shop  a  man  gets  a  tumbler  or  bucket  of  stuff 
containing  every  fiery  stimulant  but  whisky,  though 
whisky  it  is  professed  to  be,  for  five  cents.  Its  inflam- 
matory influences  soon  produce  the  most  intense  thirst, 
and  the  poor  fellows  drink  till  they  get  into  a  state  of 
beastly  intoxication,  when  they  are  remorselessly  turned 
out  into  the  gutter. 

John  Allen,  once  the  most  notorious  sailors'  dance- 
house  keeper  in  the  ward,  is  now  out  of  the  business, 
and  the  lower  part  of  his  old  house  is  used  as  a  mis- 


14  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

sion-house.  He  lias  become  very  dogged,  sullen,  and 
silent.  He  is  disappointed  with  the  turn  affairs  have 
taken,  and  is  angry  with  himself  and  with  all  his  neigh- 
bors. His  old  business  has  been  entirely  ruined,  partly 
by  exposure  and  partly  by  his  attempt  to  play  off  the 
missionary  by  his  pretended  conversion.  Between  these 
two  stools  John  Allen's  dance-house  has  fallen  to  the 
ground.  He  is  said,  however,  to  have  saved  a  great 
deal  of  money  out  of  his  infamous  business ;  quite 
enough  to  keej)  him  very  comfortably  for  the  remainder 
of  his  days.  He  is  a  tall,  powerfully-built  man,  about 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  but  with  a  hang-dog,  brutal 
cast  of  countenance.  He  was  unable  to  ask  us  into  his 
house,  as  his  wife  was  drunk,  and  when  in  that  condi- 
tion she  is  always  very  quarrelsome.  Every  one  in  the 
street  abuses  John  Allen,  and  expresses  a  pious  wish 
that  he  may  go  to  the  devil  as  soon  as  possible,  or  any- 
where  else,  so  long  as  he  takes  himself  off;  so  said 
Mr.  Tommy  Hadden.  They  seem  to  think  that  as  long 
as  The  Wickedest  Man  in  New  York  remains  among 
them,  so  long  will  the  agitation  against  their  infamous 
mode  of  earning  a  living  continue ;  but  that,  if  Allen 
could  be  got  out  of  the  way,  the  outcry  against  them 
would  soon  cease.  Allen,  without  intending  to  do  so, 
has  certainly  done  more  to  injure  the  business  of  these 
"  Sailors'  Retreats "  than  all  the  missionaries  put  to- 
gether. He  has,  fortunately  for  the  poor  sailors,  opened 
their  eyes  to  the  frauds  practiced  upon  them,  taught 
them  to  be  more  careful  of  their  own  interests,  and 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.       15 

made  them  more  shy  than  formerly  of  going  to  these 
places.  His  neighbors  feel  this,  and  they  bless  him 
accordingly.1 

But,  in  spite  of  the  indirect  aid  thus  rendered  them 
by  Allen,  I  do  not  gather  that  the  missionaries  have 
met  with  that  bountiful  harvest  which  so  heavy  a  crop 
of  sinners  warranted  them  in  anticipating.  I  think 
their  imperfect  success  is  simply  due  to  one  great  and 
all-important  oversight.  They  try  to  Christianize  be- 
fore they  have  humanized  those  whom  they  desire  to 
draw  under  their  influence.  This  results  in  two  ways  ! 
They  either  repel,  or  they  manufacture  hypocrites. 
Their  real  penitents  are  few  and  far  between.  They 
go  too  much  on  the  sudden-call  system — the  trump- 
et-call to  repentance,  and  seem  to  think  that  it  is  per- 
fectly natural  that  men  and  women  can,  under  an 
impulse  of  suddenly-awakened  conscience,  kneel  down 
and  pray  to  God — a  Being  of  whom  they  absolutely 
know  nothing  as  to  His  powers,  attributes,  mercy,  and 
justice.  I  went  one  day  to  one  of  these  missionary 
prayer-meetings,  not  in  any  carping  spirit ;  and  what  I 
saw  and  heard  there  continued  me  in  my  previously 
conceived  impressions  of  their  futility  as  at  present  car- 
ried on.  The  meeting  was  composed  of  some  fifteen  or 
twenty  gray-haired  and  bald-headed  gentlemen,  a  few 
young  women,  of  the  stereotyped  Water-Street  class, 
with  a  mass  of  chignon  or  plaited  hair,  outrageously 
greased  for  the  occasion  (these  were  said  to  be  peni- 

1  John  Allen  is  since  dead. 


16  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

tents),  some  few  very  ragged-looking  of  the  older  vic- 
tims of  whisky,  with  heavy  shawls  over  their  heads, 
about  an  equal  number  of  men  of  the  same  stamp,  and 
some  dozen  nondescript  victims  of  curiosity,  who  sat 
in  the  back  rows  of  seats  or  stood  near  the  entrance- 
door.  Those  notorieties  of  Water  Street,  John  Allen, 
Tommy  Hadden,  and  jovial  old  Kit  Burn,  were  con- 
spicuous by  their  absence.  When  I  entered,  the  meet- 
ing was  specially  engaged  in  considering  the  case  of  a 
sailor,  who  had  put  in  an  appearance,  under  the  idea 
that  the  mission-house  was  a  place  where  he  could  sign 
the  temperance  pledge  before  starting  on  his  voyage. 
But  prayers,  not  pledges,  were  the  order  of  the  day. 
One  of  the  speakers  informed  the  unlucky  sailor  of  this 
fact,  called  him  a  wicked  sinner  (probably  only  too 
true),  and  many  other  unpleasant  names,  and  conclud- 
ed by  inviting  the  meeting  to  pray  for  this  would-be 
penitent  marine  limb  of  Satan.  This,  however,  was 
more  than  the  sailor  was  prepared  to  stand.  He  soon 
showed  sums  of  hauling  in  his  cable,  and,  making  full 
sail  for  the  door,  he  endeavored  to  cut  and  run.  But 
these  missionary  gentlemen  were  not  inclined  to  be 
balked  of  such  an  opportunity,  and  the  sailor  was 
compelled  to  remain  while  a  holy-minded  brother  of- 
fered up  on  his  behalf  what  a  subsequent  speaker  char- 
acterized as  "  his  de-ear  bre-other's  most  be-eautiful 
pre-ayer."  The  groans  of  saintly  agony  which  the 
"  de-ear  bre-other "  interpolated  between  every  few 
words,  chorused  as  they  were  by  the  meeting,  prevent- 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.        17 

ed  my  catching  much  of  his  supplication,  but  I  was 
considerably  struck  on  hearing  him  address  the  Saviour 
as  "  Sweet  Sir."  The  effect  of  his  fervid  eloquence,  too, 
was  greatly  marred  by  the  frequent  "  O  Lors "  and 
"  Aniens  "  which  came  from  all  parts  of  the  room,  I 
presume  by  way  of  applause,  without  any  apparent 
concert.  The  sailor  was  at  last  allowed  to  depart, 
when  the  chief  prayer-master  arose  and  requested  "  any 
fellow-sinners  who  may  specially  desire  to  be  prayed 
for  "  to  stand  up ;  "  but,"  he  added,  "  before  this  exhi- 
bition (!)  takes  place,  I  would  like  to  say  a  few  words." 
The  pious  gentleman  said  his  "  few  words,"  the  u  fellow- 
sinners"  were  duly  prayed  for,  amid  many  groanings 
and  much  general  agitation  and  palpitation  of  smitten 
bosoms,  the  doxology  was  most  inharmoniously  dirged, 
and  the  meeting  was  over.  Now,  it  is  asserted  in  Wa- 
ter Street  that  every  penitent  who  attends  these  prayer- 
meetings  receives  so  much  for  so  doing,  and  that  they 
invariably  spend  the  money  in  rum.  I  certainly  saw 
some  of  them  go  straight  from  the  mission-house  to 
the  liquor-saloons.  Would  it  not  be  better,  then,  to 
spend  the  same  amount  of  money  in  erecting  sailors7 
homes,  working  -  men's  clubs,  and  Magdalen  institu- 
tions \  These  missionaries  are  actuated  by  the  best  of 
intentions  ;  but  they  make  the  fatal  mistake  of  suppos- 
ing that  poor  humanity  can  be  as  easily  transplanted  as 
a  pear-tree,  or  quietly  repotted  like  a  scarlet  geranium. 
But  to  return  to  my  explorations  of  the  Purlieus 
of  Water  Street  After  Dark. 


IS  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Wandering  along  Water  Street,  the  detective  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door  of  a  small  liquor-store,  saying, 
"  We'll  just  look  in  here  a  moment,  sir."  We  accord- 
ingly walked  in.  Its  only  occupants  were,  the  propri- 
etor, who  was  sitting  fast  asleep  by  the  stove,  and  a 
small  boy.  By  dint  of  much  shaking,  the  small  boy 
managed  to  awaken  his  master,  saying,  "  Gentlemen,  sir, 
gentlemen."  The  master  quickly  roused  himself,  and  I 
was  somewhat  formally  introduced  to  Mr.  Christopher 
Burn  of  the  Sportsman's  Hall.  "  And  so  this  portly, 
jovial,  pock-marked,  sodden-faced  looking  man  is  Kit 
Burn,  of  whom  we  have  lately  heard  so  much,"  I  mut- 
tered to  myself.  Mr.  Burn  honored  me  with  a  shake 
of  his  hand,  and,  in  answer  to  inquiries  after  his  health, 
replied  that  he  was  "  Nicely,  thank  you,  sir,"  and  imme- 
diately added,  "  What  will  you  take,  gentlemen  % "  The 
detective  suggested  a  glass  of  ale,  and  a  glass  of  ale  was 
drawn.  Mr.  Burn  was  politeness  itself,  but  very  se- 
vere on  "  them  parsons."  "  Going  the  round,  eh,  sir  ? 
Well,  I'm  very  glad  you  ain't  got  no  parsons  with  you. 
I'm  full  agin  them  parsons,,  sir.  Somehow  I  don't  find 
parson-sauce  a  good  relish  to  a  rare  beefsteak.  Slip- 
peiy,  sir,  very,"  and  Mr.  Burn  emphatically  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "Downy  lot,  sir,  very,"  and  Mr.  Burn 
winked  his  eye.  "  Lord  love  yer,  sir  !  they  like  a  glass 
with  a  stick  in  it,  every  bit  as  much  as  you  or  I  do," 
and  Mr.  Burn  looked  contemptuous.  "But  I  never 
throws  a  chance  away,  sir ;  so  I  says  to  the  parsons, 
says  I :  l  Gentlemen,  where's  the  rhino  %  Let's  finger  the 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.       19 

bills.  No  money,  no  prayers,  gentlemen  ; '  that's  what 
I  says.  Well,  sir,  they  paid  me  a  whole  month's 
rent  in  advance,  but  they  only  used  the  pit  a  fort- 
night. But  then,  you  see,  sir,  that's  their  business, 
not  mine."  Here  Mr.  Burn  could  scarcely  control  his 
merriment ;  but  it  gradually  subsided  in  a  series  of 
chuckles. 

Mr.  Burn  does  not  like  John  Allen  and  Tommy 
Had  den.  He  declared  his  opinion  that  they  were  both 
"  reg'lar  bad  'uns."  "  You  see,  sir,"  said  he,  "  they  thor- 
oughly sweat  a  poor  man,  and  make  believe  they  don't. 
Well,  now,  sir,  maybe  I  sell  a  man  a  drink  of  bad 
whisky,  but,  then,  he  knows  that  when  he  buys  it ;  so 
that's  fair  and  straight  bisness — ain't  it,  gentlemen  ?  " 
Mr.  Burn  then  politely  offered  to  escort  us  to  "  The 
Pit,"  where  there  was  "  a  leetle  purp  of  five  months," 
as  Mr.  Burn  termed  a  rough,  sandy-haired  terrier,  play- 
ing with  a  rat.  "  He's  only  a  larner,  gentlemen,"  he 
remarked,  in  an  apologetic  tone ;  "  but  he'll  kill  in  a 
week — I  do  believe  he  will."  How  fondly  Mr.  Burn 
gazed  on  that  "  leetle  purp  "  !  How  he  eyed  him  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur  !  He  then  called  our  attention 
to  the  tiers  of  seats  for  the  spectators  of  rat  and  canine 
contests,  which  he  informed  us  would  accommodate  five 
hundred  persons,  though  we  were  at  a  loss  to  conceive 
how  the  unlucky  occupants  of  the  top  row  could  possi- 
bly sit  there,  the  seat  being  only  about  thirty  inches 
from  the  roof.  He  knew,  he  said,  that  "  four  hundred 
and  seventy-five  gents  were  present  when  the  black- 


20  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

and-tan  "  (now  stuffed  and  ornamenting  the  window) 
"  killed  three  hundred  under  the  hour,  sir."  And,  with 
a  look  of  pride,  Mr.  Burn  added,  "  And  he  did  it  easy, 
sir !  " 

But  the  thought  of  past  scenes,  and  days  gone  by, 
never  to  return,  rendered  the  portly  Mr.  Burn  pathetic. 
"  Ah  !  sir,"  he  sighed,  "  them  days  is  gone.  My  kind 
friend  Mr.  Bergh  has  ruined  my  buisness.  But  they 
are  warmint,  and  nobody  can't  persuade  me  they're  not." 
At  the  bare  idea  of  rats  not  being  vermin,  Mr.  Burn 
became  greatly  excited.  u  But  they  are  warmint,"  he 
repeated,  "and  Mr.  Bergh  knows  it,  too;  and  what's 
more,  he  won't  try  the  law.  Why?  Because  he  knows 
he'd  be  beat,  sir ;  that's  why.  But  it  ain't  no  use  me  a 
talking  sir.  I  only  lose  my  temper.  But  I  can't  abear 
to  see  people  a-meddlin'  with  what  they  don't  under- 
stand." Mr.  Burn  very  kindly  offered  to  "  turn  off  a 
dozen  or  two  "  for  our  amusement,  at  "  ten  cents  apiece, 
gentlemen ; "  but  this  we  politely  declined.  He  in- 
sisted, however,  on  our  taking  another  glass  of  ale,  for 
which  having  paid,  I  wished  Mr.  Burn  good-evening, 
again  had  the  honor  of  shaking  hands  with  him,  and 
took  my  leave,  he  giving  me  a  most  pressing  invitation 
to  "  step  in  and  see  me  again." 

Kit  Burn  is  certainly  an  original  character.  That 
his  business  is  a  disreputable  one  no  one  will  attempt 
to  deny,  and  that  his  views  of  Christianity  may  not 
be  all  that  the  missionaries  could  wish,  may  be  an 
equally  self-evident  proposition  ;  still,  Burn  is  a  good 


THE   PURLIEUS   OF   WATER   STREET   AFTER   DARK.       21 

neighbor  and  a  kind  friend,  and  lie  will  not  allow 
thieves  and  cracksmen  a  chance  in  his  house,  but  turns 
them  out  at  once.  He  ought  not,  then,  to  be  placed  in 
the  same  category  as  such  men  as  John  Allen  and 
Tommy  Hadden  ;  for,  as  he  himself  expressed  it  to  me, 
"  cruelty  to  warmint,  if  it  is  cruelty,  sir,  surely  ain't  the 
same  as  the  cruelty  to  humans  carried  on  up  the  street, 
sir.  But  because  I  think  rats  is  warmint,  sir,  and  the 
parsons  don't,  they  pray  for  me  every  day  at  the  meet- 
in' -house  at  twelve  o'clock.  But  not  by  name,  sir  ! 
No,  poor  Kit  Burn  comes  in  in  the  gineral  ketalogue  of 
wicked,  unrepentin'  sinners."  Mr.  Burn's  face,  as  he 
gave  vent  to  this  piece  of  irony,  was  a  study  for  a 
painter,  and  his  little  round  eyes  fairly  danced  with 
delight  as  he  recounted  to  us  how  near  he  "  come  to 
gett'n  one  on  'em  tight  once." 

To  describe  writh  truth  and  sufficient  force  those 
dens  in  cellars  which  are  termed  underground  lodging- 
houses,  requires  the  artist's  brush  rather  than  the  pen. 
No  words  can  convey  an  adequate  impression  of  their 
utter  wretchedness ;  for  it  is  the  accumulation  of  little 
details  of  misery  which  renders  these  sleeping-places  so 
horribly  repulsive  to  any  one  accustomed  to  a  civilized 
mode  of  life. 

Imagine  yourself  descending  through  a  sort  of  trap- 
door entrance  into  an  underground  cellar,  only  seven 
or  eight  feet  high  and  often  less.  Its  dingy  walls  and 
blackened  ceiling  dimly  lit  up  by  the  filthy  kerosene 
night-lamp  which  the  old  hag,  who  is  proprietress,  holds 


22  TIIE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

over  her  head  to  enable  you  to  look  around.  At  first 
you  can  see  but  little,  but  becoming  accustomed  to  the 
gloom,  you  find  that  you  are  standing  in  a  perfect  maze 
of  beds.  Go  with  me  through  one  of  these  cellar 
lodging-houses  which  particularly  struck  me.  Ranged 
round  the  room,  as  closely  packed  as  possible,  with 
a  narrow  open  space  down  the  middle,  are  thirteen 
filthily-dirty  beds,  all  full.  Look  at  the  one  near- 
est you.  It  contains  an  elderly  man  and  a  woman 
of  at  least  five-and-twenty  years  of  age.  The  old  hag, 
who  is  inclined  to  be  communicative,  tells  you  that 
they  are  father  and  daughter.  You  shudder  and 
pass  on.  In  the  next  bed  lies  a  fine,  handsome  looking 
laboring-man  of  forty,  his  brawny  arms  stretched  out 
at  right  angles  on  the  dirty  bundle  which  does  duty  for 
a  pillow,  the  head  of  a  sleeping  boy  resting  on  each 
arm.  Neither  the  father  nor  his  boys  have  any  other 
covering  on  them  than  the  bedclothes.  He  is  awake, 
and,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  implies  a  certain  feeling 
of  shame  at  being  seen  in  such  a  den,  he  informs  you 
that  he  once  had  a  comfortable  home  of  his  own.  u  But 
my  wife,  sir,  took  to  drinking ;  she  sold  my  little  bits 
of  furniture  one  after  another ;  then  all  my  clothes, 
with  the  exception  of  what  I  had  on ;  and,  finally,  she 
stole  my  tools — and  here  I  am.  But,  fortunately  for 
me  !  she  died,  the  30th  of  last  month."  And,  with  a 
sigh,  he  added — "  Ah  !  sir,  she  was  a  bad  woman  !  " 
Beyond  this  poor  fellow  are  three  strapping  young 
men,  all  sleeping  heavily.     And  then  there  is  another 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.        23 

shocking  sight — a  man,  his  wife,  and  their  grown-up 
son,  fast  asleep  in  the  same  bed.  But  why  continue 
this  dreadful  tale  of  misery  and  unnatural  degradation  ? 
It  is  the  same  sad  story  all  around  the  room,  and  all 
around  the  neighborhood — men,  women,  and  children, 
many  of  them  in  a  state  of  nudity,  sleeping  indiscrimi- 
nately together. 

We  visited  place  after  place,  cellar  after  cellar,  with 
infatuated  persistence,  hoping  that  we  might  at  least 
find  some  few  rather  better  than  the  rest.  But  it  was 
not  so,  and  in  one  of  these  dens  human  misery  seemed 
to  have  reached  its  climax.  As  we  entered  the  door  of 
this  particular  cellar,  a  low,  thin  wail  struck  my  ear.  I 
turned  quickly  to  the  detective,  saying,  "  Surely  that 
is  the  cry  of  a  new-born  baby.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  the 
woman  who  lighted  us  in,  an  unusually  well-spoken 
Irishwoman,  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  a  figure  on  a 
bed  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room,  "  that  poor  woman 
has  just  been  confined,  not  ten  minutes  ago."  "  Good 
God !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  in  such  a  scene  as  this  ? "  "  Well, 
sir,"  she  replied,  "  poor  folks  can't  afford  to  be  as  per- 
tickler  as  Fifth  Avenue."  "  And  that's  true,  sir,"  quietly 
observed  the  poor  creature  of  whom  we  were  speaking. 
We  hurried  away. 

In  one  of  these  wretched  dens,  a  young  Irishwoman, 
who  was  sleeping  near  the  entrance,  suddenly  sprang 
out  of  bed,  and,  planting  herself  in  the  door-way,  made 
a  grab  at  me  with  tiger-like  ferocity,  at  the  same  time 
pouring  out  a  torrent  of  abuse  against  us  for  coming  in. 


2±  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

Her  whole  demeanor  showed  that  she  was  quite  capable 
of  mischief.  Without  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  the 
infuriated  Irishwoman,  my  detective  turned  to  the  pro- 
prietress and  quietly  remarked,  "  If  there  is  the  slight- 
est disturbance,  I  shall  report  this  house  to  the  sergeant." 
In  an  instant  the  landlady  and  her  husband  were  busy 
pacifying  the  angry  woman,  imploring  her  not  to  get 
them  into  trouble.  She  soon  retired  sullenly  to  bed, 
scowling  fearfully  at  us  during  the  few  moments  we  re- 
mained. The  detective's  professional  instinct  told  him 
that,  had  he  attempted  to  pacify  this  fierce  woman,  she 
would  in  all  probability  have  become  still  more  violent ; 
he  knew  that  these  lodging-house  keepers  are  in  the  hab- 
it of  exercising  considerable  influence  over  their  lodgers. 
As  we  emerged  from  one  of  these  places,  our  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  the  sound  of  many  footsteps,  rap- 
idly approaching.  As  we  stepped  off  the  pavement  to 
allow  the  crowd  to  pass,  we  were  shocked  to  see  that 
they  were  carrying  the  apparently  lifeless  body  of  a 
woman.  We  stopped  one  of  the  crowd  to  ask  what 
was  the  matter.  "  Oh,  only  a  woman  poisoned  herself; 
they're  taking  her  to  the  hospital."  And  away  our  in- 
formant hurried,  vexed  to  think  that,  by  stopping  to 
answer  our  inquiry,  his  fascinated  gaze  upon  this  poor 
creature  of  misery  had  been  for  a  moment  interrupted. 
"  Only  a  woman  poisoned  herself."  Only  a  poor  human 
being,  who,  tired  of  battling  with  a  life  of  sorrow,  una- 
ble any  longer  to  make  head  against  her  sea  of  troubles, 
had  thought  by  self-destruction  to  put  an  end  to  them. 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.        25 

While  thinking  over  this  scene,  a  perfect  mass  of  mud 
and  tatters,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  came  up  and  told 
a  piteous  tale  of  starvation  and  distress ;  how  she  had 
once  had  a  home  of  her  own ;  how  her  husband  had 
been  ill  for  some  months ;  how  this  one  misfortune  had 
been  the  sole  cause  of  their  present  condition.     The 
woman's   eye  and  chattering  jaw  told  their  own  sad 
tale ;  she  showed  no  apparent  signs  of  being  a  drunkard, 
in  fact  her  whole  demeanor  seemed  to  substantiate  her 
statement.     I  asked  her  where  she  lodged.     She  replied 
that  she  lived  in  one  of  the  underground  cellars.     "  Let 
me  see  your  husband,"  I  said.     We  followed  her  into  a 
hovel  in  every  way  similar  to  tliose  we  had  already 
visited,  and  a  pitiable  sight  met  our  eyes.     On  one  of 
those  filthy  beds  lay  a  poor,  emaciated   fellow,   who 
looked  as  though  death  would  claim  him  in  a  few  hours. 
"  My  friend,"  said  I  to  the  woman,  "  if  I  give  you  some 
money,  will  you  promise  me  not  to  spend  a  cent  of  it  in 
drink? "     She  simply  replied,  "  I  will."     I  took  a  dollar- 
bill  from  my  pocket  and  placed  it  in  her  hand.     She 
looked  at  it,  she  stared  at  it,  she  clutched  it,  and  ejaculat- 
ing "  My  God ! "  with  fearful  emphasis,  rushed  up  the 
steps  into  the  street  without  offering  any  thanks.     Her 
poor  husband,  in  weak  tones,  apologized  for  her  strange 
behavior,  saying,  "  We  haven't  seen  the  sight  of  so  much 
money  for  weeks."     This  was  certainly  the  most  touch- 
ing and  heart-rending  scene  we  witnessed  in  our  wander- 
ings that  night.    That  dollar  was,  I  feel  sure,  well  spent. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  "  you  ought  to  see 


26  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

one  of  the  swell-thieves'  cribs,  if  we  can  manage  it."     I 
particularly  wished  to  do  so,  and  we  started  to  visit  the 
monarch,  the  go-between  and  patron  of  the  light-fingered 
ones  of  the  neighborhood.     My  guide  told  me  that  we 
must  exercise  great  caution,  as  we  should  be  viewed 
with  the  utmost  suspicion,  and  might  find  ourselves  in 
hot  water  without  a  moment's  warning.     We  descend- 
ed  a  staircase  into  what  was  apparently  a  better-class 
oyster  saloon,  when   a  smart,  well-dressed,  intelligent- 
looking  man  came  hurriedly  forward  to  meet  us.     I  was 
introduced  to  him  with  all  the  customary  formalities  of 
society.     He  received  me  with  studied  politeness,  in- 
quired particularly  after  the  state  of  my  health,  and, 
asking  us  what  we  would  take,  produced  a  bottle,  and 
a  box  of  the  most  magnificent  cigars.     As  we  were  not 
allowed  to  pay  for  these  little  luxuries,  I  presume  they 
cost  him  nothing.     Seated  at  a  round  table  were  four- 
teen really  well-dressed,  gentlemanly-looking  men ;  they 
would  have  passed  anywhere  in  society,  so  far  as  regards 
their  personal  appearance.     These  men  are  among  the 
most  expert  thieves  in  the  whole  country — so  clever, 
so  careful  in  all  their  little  arrangements  that  the  police, 
though  morally  certain  of  their  character,  have  never 
yet  been  able  to  bring  any  thing  home  to  them.     Their 
purloining  transactions  are  carried  on  entirely  through 
the  agency  of  their  tools.     They  were  all  talking,  and 
talking  loudly;  but  so  peculiar  was  their  idiom  that 
they  were  quite  unintelligible  to  me,  though  it  occurred 
to  me  afterward  that  a  good  deal  of  this  might  have 


THE  PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.       27 

been  assumed,  by  way  of  blinding  me  as  to  what  they 
were  really  talking  about.  We  remained  for  about  ten 
minutes,  conversing  with  the  host  on  various  topics,  and 
smoking  his  imported  Havanas,  when  a  sign  from  the 
officer,  who  had  held  a  moment's  whispered  conversa- 
tion with  our  entertainer,  warned  us  that  our  presence 
was  no  longer  desirable.  We,  therefore,  politely  wished 
the  King  of  the  Cracksmen  "  Good-evening,"  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  hearing  the  click  of  the  lock  and  the 
grating  of  the  bolts  of  the  door  the  instant  we  were 
outside. 

On  gaining  the  pavement  at  the  top  of  the  staircase, 
the  detective  said  to  me :  "  I  guess  you  made  him  feel  a 
kinder  sick  by  going  down  there ;  he  knows  you  well." 
I  was  immensely  astounded  and  somewhat  chagrined  to 
find. that  this  gentleman  claimed  a  quasi  acquaintance 
with  me.  "  How  on  earth  can  he  know  me?"  I  in- 
quired. "  Oh,  he's  seen  you  coming  out  of  one  of  the 
newspaper  offices,  and  he  makes  it  his  business  never  to 
forget  a  face  he  has  once  seen.  That's  what  he  was 
quietly  asking  me  about ;  he  thinks  you  have  visited 
his  house  for  the  purpose  of  showing  him  up  in  the 
papers,  and  he  says,  if  you  do,  you  are  a  marked  man." 
So  much  for  Mr.  "  Keddy  the  Blacksmith." 

Three  minutes'  walk  down  a  by-street  brought  us 
to  another  oyster  and  supper  saloon,  though  this  one 
was  reputed  to  be  of  a  respectable  character.  This  is 
the  favorite  resort  of  those  maimed  soldiers  who  gain 
a  subsistence,  and   apparently  a  pretty  good  one,  by 


28  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

grinding  organs  at  the  corners  of  the  streets.  There 
were  about  a  dozen  of  them  present  on  this  occasion, 
most  of  them  fine,  smart-looking  yonng  fellows,  though 
I  do  not  think  there  was  a  perfect  set  of  limbs  among 
the  whole  lot.  Many  were  enjoying  an  excellent  sup- 
per of  beefsteak  and  fried  potatoes.  Those  who  had 
only  one  arm  being  able,  by  a  sort  of  juggler's  action, 
to  eat  just  as  fast  and  as  easily  as  those  who  had  two. 
I  am  told  that  these  men  sometimes  earn  as  much  as 
two  and  a  half  or  three  dollars  a  day  and  that  they 
would  be  much  disconcerted  if  the  government  should 
suddenly  determine  to  take  proper  care  of  them.  Some 
of  them  are  said  to  employ  an  assistant  to  attract  the 
contributions  of  charitable  passers-by.  The  assistant 
receives  every  morning  three  five-cent  pieces  from  each 
man.  He  goes  round  once  in  the  morning,  and  once  in 
the  afternoon,  dropping  one  of  the  five-cent  pieces  at 
each  visit  into  the  little  wooden  box  on  the  top  of  the 
organ  as  ostentatiously  as  he  can.  The  third  piece  he 
keeps  for  himself.  The  force  of  example  generally 
leads  several  others  to  do  the  same,  and  the  decoy 
walks  unconcernedly  on.  This  outlay  of  two  and  a  half 
cents  often  brings  in  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  and  some- 
times more. 

Leaving  the  soldiers  to  finish  their  supper  in  peace, 
we  entered  a  fighting-crib.  We  arrived  at  an  unfortu- 
nate moment.  It  was  rather  late  in  the  evening  even 
for  the  pugilistic  gentry,  and  the  discussion  of  the 
arrest  of  Edward  O'Baldwin,   the   Irish  Giant,  some- 


THE   PURLIEUS  OF  WATER  STREET  AFTER  DARK.       29 

how  or  other  was  a  very  heated  one.  Why  or  where- 
fore I  cannot  divine,  for  all  were  agreed  that  it  was  a 
monstrous  invasion  of  the  rights  of  the  private  citizen. 
Unaware  of  the  arrest,  and  knowing  nothing  about  the 
giant  and  his  prize-fight,  I  nevertheless  soon  found  my- 
self  drinking  the  giant's  health  and  inveighing  in  un- 
measured terms,  against  the  law,  the  judges,  and  Judge 
Dowling  in  particular.  Suddenly,  every  man  let  drive 
from  the  shoulder  at  his  nearest  neighbor.  I  have 
never  before  or  since  witnessed  any  thing  like  it. 
They  seemed  to  go  off  like  a  pyrotechnical  set  piece. 
A  couple  of  bounds  over  the  prostrate  forms  of  those 
gladiators,  who  found  that  it  was  easy  enough  to  go 
down  but  not  so  easy  to  get  up  again,  brought  me  to 
the  door  and  to  the  side  of  the  detective.  "Unless 
you  want  to  see  any  more  free  fighting,  we'd  better  get 
out  of  this,"  he  said ;  "  once  them  fellows  begin,  they'll 
be  at  it  time  and  again,  till  the  police  comes  and  locks 
some  of  'em  up."  I  told  him  that  I  had  had  quite 
enough  of  it  and  that  I  was  only  too  anxious  to  get 
out,  glad  that  I  had  fared  no  worse  than  to  have  my 
hat  smashed. 

As  it  was  now  long  after  midnight,  I  determined 
to  bring  my  excursion  to  a  close.  I  thought  that  I  had 
seen  enough  of  the  Purlieus  of  Water  Street  After 
Dark  for  one  night ;  certainly  enough  to  convince  me 
that  it  is  morally  impossible  for  men  to  be  men,  or 
women  to  be  women,  that  is,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
word,  when  they  dwell  in  Water  Street.  "  A.  P." 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR. 

"  Lost  any  thing,  boss  ?  " 

I  started  as  though  a  dozen  of  Professor  Tyndall's 
electric  batteries  had  been  discharged  through  me  sim- 
ultaneously and  confronted  a  specimen,  of  the  purest 
water,  of  the  Celtic  race.  He  was  gracefully  indulging 
in  the  undeniable  luxury  of  a  short  clay  pipe,  as  he 
leaned  his  elbow  on  the  gate- way  of  the  family  pig-stye, 
and  was  regarding  my  movements  with  an  excess  of 
curiosity  which  might  possibly,  I  thought,  change  by 
a  self-converting  process  into  hostility. 

No,  I  had  lost  nothing ;  and  yet  I  felt  very  much 
like  a  detected  sneak-thief  as  I  nervously  replied  in  the 
negative  to  the  inquiry  of  the  squatter  lord  of  the 
rocky  domain  on  whose  premises  I  was  trespassing. 

"  I  thought  you  was  a-lookin'  for  sutthin,"  rejoined 
the  Irish — self-appointed  lord  of  the  manor. 

Looking  for  something !  I  had  been  prowling  in 
search  of  something  for  nearly  two  hours  among  the 
shanties,  the  children,  the  goats,  the  cows,  and  the  dirty 
ducks  and  geese,  which  seem  to  love  to  congregate 
around  the  boundaries  of  the  Central  Park.  I  fully  be. 
lieve  that  I  had  explored  Rag-Town  from  end  to  end,  I 


THE     AMATEUR     BEGGAR. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


THE   AMATEUR   BEGGAR.  31 

had  been  stared  at  by  idle  men  (for  it  was  Sunday, 
and  clean  shirt-sleeves  were  the  order  of  the  day)  ;  I 
had  been  thoroughly  appraised  by  slatternly  women ; 
I  had  been  followed  by  goats  and  unwashed,  unkempt, 
stockingless  children,  and  growled  at  by  curs ;  but  this 
tout-a-fait  naturalized  citizen  was  the  only  being  who 
had  so  far  verbally  expressed  any  curiosity  to  learn  what 
brought  me  there.  He  certainly,  at  first,  mistook  me  for 
a  poultry-stealer  or  a  detective  police-officer,  for,  in  the 
words  of  the  old  rhyme : 

"  He  eyed  me  up,  lie  eyed  me  down, 
As  though  I  owned  one-half  the  town." 

Endeavoring  to  assume  an  air  of  supreme  indiffer- 
ence, I  pursued  my  search,  and,  shortly  afterward,  much 
to  my  joy,  lighted  on  the  very  thing  I  was  seeking  for 
— an  old  worn-out  and  discarded  boot.  I  clutched  it 
with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  diamond- digger ;  and,  stuf- 

O  Co         / 

fing  it  into  the  pocket  of  my  overcoat,  I  retraced  my 
steps,  muttering  to  myself,  "  It  don't  match  very  well ; 
but,  perhaps,  so  much  the  better."  My  Irish  friend 
had  evidently  been  all  along  watching  my  every  move- 
ment, either  from  a  feeling  of  suspicion  or  of  insatiable 
curiosity.  For,  as  I  again  passed  his  tumble-down 
wooden  castle,  he  turned  his  head  slowly,  and,  after  a 
lavish  expectoration,  remarked  to  his  next-door  neigh- 
bor, "  Bedad,  that  man's  as  mad  as  the  divil."  Had  he 
really  been  aware  of  my  intentions,  it  is  probable  that 
he  would  have  rendered  his  adjectives  in  the  superla- 
tive degree,  and  much  more  forcibly. 


32  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

The  fact  is,  like  Don  Quixote,  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture was  strong  upon  me.  But,  unlike  Don  Quixote,  I 
had  no  faithful  Sancho  Panza  to  perform  my  bidding 
in  the  way  of  making  preparations.  Nor  have  I  any 
Cervantes  to  chronicle  my  deeds.  Unlike  Philip 
Slingsby — "  Slingsby  of  the  manly  chest " — I  had  not 
invoked  any  one  : 

"  Come  be  the  Homer  of  the  battle  which  I  go  to  wage  to-day." 

For  the  simple  reason  that  I  had  determined  to  sing  of 
my  adventures  myself,  at  my  leisure.  But  they  were  far 
from  heroic.  I  was  only  going  begging,  and  I  wanted 
another  worn-out  boot  to  complete  my  outfit  in  true  pro- 
fessional style.  I  had  one  that  I  had  purloined  from 
an  ash-barrel  on  Third  Avenue.  I  had  also  a  hat  that  I 
had  picked  up  from  a  gutter  in  my  neighborhood ;  and 
I  had  purchased  an  old  pair  of  pantaloons  and  a  frock- 
coat,  which  had  once  been  black,  but  had  faded  into  a 
green-brown  shade  of  color,  from  having  swung  for 
many  months  in  the  eddying  gusts  which  played  round 
an  old-clothes  store  in  Avenue  B,  after  thev  had  been 
discarded  by  their  original  owner. 

In  this  regal  apparel  I  proposed  to  enter  into  com- 
petition with  the  aristocracy  of  beggardom  for  the  char- 
itable sympathies  of  the  well-dressed  and  gold-scatter- 
ing promenaders  on  Broadway.  Belisarius,  with  his 
"  da  obolum"  was  to  be  a  fool  to  me  !  Louis  Philippe, 
begging  for  centimes  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix,  as  his  enemies  were  so  fond  of  picturing  him — 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  33 

faites  Vaumones  au  dernier  ties  nots  rois — should  be  an 
innocent  compared  with  the  imposture  on  the  purse- 
strings  of  the  public  which  I  proposed  to  perpetrate. 
Dim  visions  of  founding  an  asylum  for  aged  beggars  out 
of  the  profits  of  my  day's  work  floated  airily  through 
my  brain;  and,  lost  in  the  pleasurable  contemplation 
of  my  adventure,  regarding  with  the  eye  of  an  artist 
my  worn-out  boots  and  tattered  apparel  as  they  lay, 
ready  to  be  donned,  upon  a  chair  before  me,  I  believe 
that,  for  the  moment,  begging,  as  a  means  of  gaining  a 
livelihood,  almost  rose  to  the  dignity  of  a  profession  in 
my  eyes. 

Putting  my  begging-costume  into  a  satchel,  on  the 
following  day  I  sought  the  rooms  of  a  theatrical  friend 
who  had  promised  to  aid  me  as  a  valet  de  cluimbre  for 
the  occasion,  and,  judging  from  my  awkwardness  when  I 
began  to  array  myself,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  without  him.  He  was  also  to  use  his  green-room 
knowledge  in  toning  down  my  rather  exuberant  appear- 
ance of  health.  This  he  did  to  perfection.  My  eyes 
soon  looked  as  though  they  were  going  on  an  exploring 
expedition  into  the  interior  of  my  head,  and,  generally, 
I  looked  wofully  haggard,  especially  as  I  had  not 
shaved  for  five  days.  Altogether,  I  presented  an  ap- 
pearance that  would  have  caused  the  heart  of  an  under- 
taker  to  bound  with  joy  at  the  prospect  of  coining  busi- 
ness. 

But  here  came  our  first  dilemma.     How  reconcile 
those  haggard  features  with  a  figure  somewhat  inclined 


34  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

to  portliness  ?  "  There  is  no  help  for  it  but  to  strap 
you  in,  old  fellow,"  observed  ray  friend  of  the  foot- 
lights ;  u  you  would  never  do  without."  So  I  was 
strapped  in  ;  and  for  seven  long  mortal  hours  I  endured 
all  the  agonies  of  tight  lacing.  Yes !  I  can  truthfully 
vouch  for  the  discomforts  and  evils  of  this  feminine  foi- 
ble. It  took  my  ribs  several  hours  to  expand  back 
a^ain  into  their  normal  curves. 

Then  came  another  trouble.  We  arrived  at  the  con- 
clusion that  my  coat  looked  too  neat  and  tidy,  although 
old,  for  a  beggar.  We  proceeded  at  once  to  remedy 
this  fault.  We  slit  one  sleeve  for  about  eight  inches 
over  the  elbow  and  sewed  a  piece  of  old  blue  cloth,  as 
a  patch,  over  the  shoulder.  We  then  spread  the  coat 
out  on  the  floor  and  sprinkled  it  all  over  with  water, 
jDrevious  to  beating  the  street  door-mat  over  it.  We 
rubbed  the  dust  well  into  the  web  of  the  cloth,  dried 
the  coat  before  the  fire,  and,  after  beating  off  the  worst 
of  the  dust,  we  had  as  shabby  a  coat  as  any  professional 
bes^ar  need  desire.  What  a  thins;  it  is  to  know  the 
tricks  of  your  trade  !  The  pantaloons  were  also  im- 
proved by  being  put  through  pretty  much  the  same  pro- 
cess, and  then  we  cut  a  piece  about  two  inches  square 
from  the  toe  of  one  of  the  boots,  putting  a  piece  of  dirty 
rag  in  the  opening.  I  quickly  arrayed  myself,  stuck 
some  diachylon  plaster  on  my  forehead,  wound  some 
bandages  of  rags  around  my  head  and  left  hand,  put  on 
my  hat,  and,  taking  an  old  stick  on  which  to  lean  trem- 
blingly when  opportunity  offered,  I  stepped  into  the 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  35 

street  from  the  kitchen  entrance.  I  believe  that  I  waa 
as  well-got-up  a  beggar  as  ever  imposed  on  the  charity 
of  a  generous  public, 

My  first  impression  on  gaining  the  street  was  that 
every  one  was  staring  at  me ;  whereas,  in  all  probability, 
I  was  totally  unnoticed.  At  one  moment  I  was  half 
inclined  to  turn  back  and  give  up  the  adventure,  when, 
fortunately,  I  caught  sight  of  an  acquaintance  coming 
down  the  street.  "  Here,"  thought  I,  "  is  an  opportunity 
to  test  my  disguise  without  any  chance  of  annoyance 
should  the  fraud  be  discovered."  As  he  passed  me  I 
begged  of  him  in  a  feigned  voice.  He  looked  me  full 
in  the  face,  muttered  something  about  being  sorry  that 
he  had  no  pennies  in  his  pocket,  and  went  on  in  blissful 
ignorance  as  to  my  identity.  This  rencontre  at  once  in- 
spired me  with  confidence,  and  I  started  up  University 
Place,  on  my  way  to  Union  Square. 

Business  soon  came  to  me,  as  it  does  to  all  others 
who  seek  it  with  a  will.  At  the  corner  of  Union 
Square  and  Fourteenth  Street,  a  nice,  kind-hearted- 
looking  old  lady,  in  deep  mourning,  gave  me  two  cents. 
This  was  my  first  haul.  My  prospects  were  decidedly 
brightening,  and  the  dread  of  going  through  the  tight- 
lacing  business  and  facing  the  fresh,  nipping  air  to  no 
purpose,  passed  away.  For,  let  me  tell  you,  my  scanty 
clothing  any  thing  but  tended  to  keep  up  a  desirable 
circulation  of  the  blood  !  Moreover,  my  throat  was  all 
bare  in  front.  My  costume,  too,  was  generally  very  un- 
comfortable.    It  any  thing  but  fitted  me  ;  and  I  felt  as 


36  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

awkward  as  Sam  "Weller  felt,  or  ought  to  have  felt, 
when  he  first  donned  Mr.  PickwTick's  livery. 

I  turned  down  Fourteenth  Street,  and  wended  my 
painful  way  to  Fifth  Avenue  with  trembling  steps. 
Near  Eighteenth  Street  two  young  ladies  caught  me  up. 
I  turned,  and  at  once  saw  that  1  had  an  opportunity. 
The  one  nearest  to  me  had  an  earnest,.Madonna-looking 
face  of  considerable  beauty.  Her  eye  was  tender  and 
sympathetic,  and  I  begged  her  to  listen  to  me  a  mo- 
ment. I  told  her  a  long  story  of  how  I  had  been  crip- 
pled by  an  accident,  and  how  I  had  just  been  dis- 
charged from  Bellevue  Hospital,  after  a  sojourn  of  six 
weeks  in  that  house  of  woe  and  suffering;  that  I  was 
still  very  weak  and  unable  to  work,  and  that  I  had  no 
money  to  buy  any  thing  to  eat.  She  eyed  me  with 
a  kindly  gaze  for  a  inoinent,  took  her  purse  out  of 
her  pocket,  and  handed  me  ten  cents.  She  did  more. 
She  gave  me  a  very  useful  warning.  For,  as  they  passed 
on,  she  remarked  to  her  companion,  in  sufficiently  loud 
tones  for  me  to  hear :  "  I  think  that  must  be  a  deserv- 
ing case :  didn't  you  notice,  how  well  the  poor  man 
talked  ? "  "  Ah  !  too  well,"  thought  I  to  myself.  "  That 
may  pass  muster  with  unsophisticated  young  ladies  of 
sympathetic  tendencies,  but  it  won't  do  for  the  world  in 
general.     I  must  correct  that." 

A  gentleman  standing  under  the  portico  of  the 
Fifth- Avenue  Hotel  gave  me  a  five-cent  piece,  much  to 
the  disgust  of  a  middle-aged  gentleman  who  was  talk- 
ing to  him  and  who  declared  his  conviction  that  all 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  37 

beggars  are  frauds.  I  gave  him  a  look  of  pained,  in- 
dignant remonstrance  and  resumed  my  mendicant  jour- 
neyings.  Between  Twenty-third  Street  and  Thirty- 
fourth  Street,  I  met  with  very  little  success  and  fancied 
that  I  was  eyed  with  particular  suspicion  by  the  officer 
on  the  beat.  But,  at  the  corner  of  Thirty-fourth  Street, 
I  begged  of  two  elderly  ladies,  who  were  apparently  wait- 
ing for  a  car.  One  of  them  gave  me  three  and  the  other 
two  cents.  I  then  passed  down  Thirty-fourth  Street  to 
Broadway  and  turned  once  more  in  the  direction  of 
the  Fifth- Avenue  Hotel,  but  I  only  picked  up  two  or 
three  single  cents  on  the  way.  But  I  was  approaching 
a  better  cruising-ground  for  beggars  !  Between  Twen- 
ty-third Street  and  Seventeenth  Street,  only  six  blocks, 
I  got  nineteen  cents ;  a  very  elegantly-dressed  young 
lady  contributing  five,  and  a  sporting-looking  gentle- 
man, who  was  lounging  in  the  door-way  of  Jerry 
Thomas's  saloon,  three  of  them.  I  crossed  over  to 
Union  Square  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  basin 
of  the  fountain.  From  my  pocket  I  drew  a  very  stale 
crust  of  bread  and  commenced  to  nibble  it,  at  the  same 
time  taking  off  my  ragged  hat  and  placing  it  on  my 
knee.  I  tried  my  utmost  to  look  the  hungry  beggar 
who  said  :  "  Kind  sir,  I've  had  nothing  to  eat  since  yes- 
terday, and  to-moiTow'll  be  the  third  day."  This  was  a 
great  card  !  A  lady,  who  was  accompanied  by  two  little 
girls,  quietly  and  unostentatiously  dropped  a  ten-cent 
stamp  into  my  hat,  without  saying  a  word.  However, 
I  saw  a  park-officer  approaching  me,  and,  fearing  that 


38  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

he  might  have  seen  the  lady's  action  and  might,  in  con- 
sequence, "be  hard-hearted  enough  to  interfere  with  me, 
I  determined  to  take  time  by  the  forelock  and  not  stand 
upon  the  order  of  my  going.  So  I  pocketed  my  crust, 
put  on  my  hat,  and  struck  for  the  Bowery. 

I  did  the  Bowery  thoroughly,  from  Cooper  Institute 
to  Canal  Street,  shivering  all  the  while  with  cold — not 
artificially  but  naturally.  I  spent  about  an  hour  there, 
realizing  altogether  about  twenty-three  cents.  I  then 
took  Canal  Street,  but  all  my  efforts  were  unrewarded. 
In  despair  I  went  into  the  reading-room  of  the  Bran- 
dreth  House,  at  the  corner  of  Canal  Street  and  Broad- 
way, and  begged  successfully  of  the  only  two  gentle- 
men who  occupied  it.  One  of  them  at  first  refused  to 
give  me  any  thing.  He  was  a  hard,  starch- visaged 
man ;  but,  when  he  saw  his  neighbor  hand  me  a  five- 
cent  piece,  either  his  heart  relented  or  he  became 
ashamed  of  himself,  for  he  followed  the  example  as  I 
passed  him  to  leave  the  room.  From  the  Brandreth 
House  I  worked  down  Canal  Street,  and  along  Carmine 
Street  to  Sixth  Avenue.  Sixth  Avenue  is  not  by  any 
means  a  to-be-despised  begging-walk.  I  passed  up  the 
west  side  as  far  as  Thirty-fourth  Street,  and  back  again 
on  the  east  side.  At  the  corner  of  Thirteenth  Street, 
an  old  lady  seemed  wonderfully  touched  by  my  piteous 
tale  and  raised  the  thermometer  of  my  expectations  up 
to  fever-heat ;  but  she  only  gave  me  one  cent. 

I  retraced  my  steps  once  more  through  Carmine  and 
Canal  Streets  to  Broadway.     My  little  store  of  pennies 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  39 

having  received  a  very  satisfactory  increase,  I  was  con- 
gratulating myself  on  the  success  of  my  enterprise,  when 
I  experienced  a  scare  which  nearly  brought  my  heart 
into  my  mouth.  It  almost  made  me  long  for  a  Californian 
earthquake — that  the  pavement  would  open  and  swal- 
low me  up.  I  had  been  standing  at  the  corner  of  Canal 
Street  for  two  or  three  minutes,  when  I  was  almost 
startled  out  of  my  propriety  on  hearing  a  gruff  voice 
say  behind  me,  "  Come,  get  along."  There  was  no 
need  to  tell  me  that  it  was  a  gentleman  in  blue.  I 
knew  that  instinctively.  But  the  officer  walked  for  a 
few  paces  by  my  side  as  I  hobbled  away  ;  and  he  told 
a  lie  almost  every  step  he  took.  He  said  he  knew  me 
well — lie  number  one ;  that  I  was  an  old  hand  at  the 
business — lie  number  two :  that  I'd  been  at  it  ever 
since  I  last  came  from  the  Island — lie  number  three ; 
and  that  I  was  a  first-class  fraud.  This  last  charge  was 
about  true.  He  parted  with  me  after  threatening  to 
"  take  me  in  "  and  "  have  me  sent  up  "  if  he  caught  me 
begging  again.  Some  of  the  passers-by  eyed  me  indig- 
nantly, others  sneered  and  jeered,  but  one  old  lady  ex- 
pressed her  opinion  that  the  police  are  very  hard  on 
beggars.  She,  however,  did  not  offer  me  any  thing  to 
assuage  my  wounded  sensibility. 

Near  the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel  I  saw  a  lady  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  close  the  door  of  her  carriage.  I  stepped 
forward  and  closed  it  for  her ;  for  which  act  of  polite- 
ness she  condescendingly  handed  me  a  penny.  At  the 
corner  of  Prince  Street  I  encountered  the  editor  of  one 


40  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

of  the  oldest  newspapers  in  New  York ;  a  gentleman 
with  whom  I  am  well  acquainted.  I  begged  of  him, 
gave  two  or  threa  very  sepulchral  coughs,  and  implored 
him  to  listen  for  a  moment  to  my  story.  He  stepped 
aside  with  me,  and  I  poured  into  his  sympathetic  ear  my 
Bellevue  Hospital  tale.  He  listened  very  gravely  and 
expressed  his  surprise  that  Mr.  Brennan,  the  Warden, 
who,  he  very  properly  said,  bore  a  high  reputation  for 
kindness  toward  all  the  inmates  of  the  hospital,  should 
allow  one  of  them  to  be  discharged  in  the  condition  in 
.which  I  then  was.  It  was  "  far  too  cold  a  day,"  he  said, 
"  for  a  sick  man  to  be  wandering  about  the  streets."  He 
put  a  twenty-five  cent  stamp  into  my  hand,  gave  me  his 
office  address,  and  said  that,  if  I  would  call  there  at 
eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  he  would  give  me  a  let- 
ter to  Mr.  Brennan,  asking  him  to  take  me  in  again  for 
a  while.  I  called  at  the  editorial  sanctum  of  my  friend 
at  the  appointed  hour  next  day,  when  the  following 
conversation  ensued,  after  an  exchange  of  the  custom- 
ary salutations : 

"  I  have  called  to  pay  you  the  twenty-five  cents  I 
borrowed  of  you  yesterday." 

"  Of  me  !     Why,  I  did  not  see  you  yesterday." 
"  Oh,  yes,  you  did.     I  met  you  on  Broadway." 
"  No,  sir  ;  I  say  you  did  not.    Why,  your  wits  must 
have  been  wool-gathering." 

"  Why,  this  is  the  identical  twenty-five-cent  stamp 
which  you  handed  to  me." 

"  Well ;  where  does  the  joke  come  in  ?  " 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  41 

"  No  joke  at  all.  There  is  your  money,  with 
thanks." 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Will !  "  (calling  out  to  his  son  in 
the  next  room). 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me  under  the  influence  of  liquor  ? " 

"  No,  father  ;  never." 

"  Then,  *  A.  P.' "  said  my  friend,  again  turning  to  me, 
"  you  must  have  been  drunk  yourself.  There,  take 
back  your  money." 

"  At  least,"  I  put  in,  "  you'll  give  me  the  letter  to 
Warden  Brennan  which  you  promised  me  ?  " 

I  never  saw  a  man's  face  assume  so  thoroughly  per- 
plexed a  look  in  my  life.  He  stared  at  me  in  blank 
astonishment  for  several  seconds,  till  at  last  the  thing 
began  to  dawn  upon  him,  and  he  burst  out  into  a 
hearty  laugh.  He  tried  hard  to  bribe  me  to  say  noth- 
ing about  it,  by  offering  to  stand  a  bottle  of  champagne 
on  those  conditions.  But  St.  Anthony  came  to  my  as- 
sistance, and  I  was  proof  against  his  alluring  tempta- 
tions. 

But  I  must  return  to  my  begging- walk  on  Broadway, 
where  the  cold  was  rapidly  becoming  something  more 
than  I  could  stand.  As  I  saw  my  face  reflected  in  a 
shop-window,  I  saw,  also,  that  my  nose  was  as  red  as  a 
piece  of  raw  beef  and  that  my  cheeks  had  assumed  a 
sort  of  washed-out  plum-color.  I  felt  that  it  was  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  do  something  toward  restoriug  my 
circulation,  and  I  determined  that,  at  the  first  opportuni- 

4 


42  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

ty  I  could  get,  I  would  have  a  good  strong  hot  whisky- 
punch.  Of  course,  this  was  not  to  be  thought  of  on 
Broadway,  but  I  thought  I  might  venture  it  in  the 
Bowery.  I  therefore  crossed  Broadway,  and  went 
down  Houston  Street  to  carry  out  my  intention.  But, 
no  sooner  had  I  reached  the  Bowery  than  I  caught 
sight  of  a  very  charitable-looking  gentleman,  who  had 
all  the  air  of  being  a  minister.  I  at  once  tackled  him, 
and  succeeded  so  well  in  working  on  his  feelings  as  to 
draw  from  him  five  cents.  I  thanked  him  and  passed 
on.  A  few  doors  down  I  reached  a  liquor-saloon.  But 
here  I  encountered  an  unforeseen  difficulty.  No  sooner 
had  I  stepped  inside  the  door,  than  the  bar-tender,  wav- 
ing his  hand  at  me,  called  out :  "  Come,  get  out  of  this. 
There's  nothing  here." 

"  But  I  want  a  drink,"  I  remonstrated. 

"  Yes,  so  does  a  good  many  others  ;  come,  get  out," 
retorted  the  bar-tender. 

I  saw  at  once  the  difficulty  with  him.  He  thought 
I  was  a  "  dead  beat,"  and  wanted  a  drink  for  nothing. 
So  I  stepped  up  to  the  bar  and  told  him  that  I  was  will- 
ing to  pay  for  a  drink. 

"  Let's  see  yer  stamps,  then,"  he  rejoined,  evidently 
still  suspicious. 

I  immediately  produced  ten  cents,  and  he  proceeded 
to  compound  for  me  a  glassful  of  the  most  villainous 
stuff  that  ever  passed  down  my  throat.  However,  it 
had  the  effect  of  making  the  blood  tingle  in  my  half- 
frozen  toes  and  fingers. 


THE  AMATEUR  BEGGAR.  43 

But,  oh,  horror  of  horrors  !  As  I  closed  the  door 
of  the  saloon  behind  me  on  returning  to  the  street, 
there,  evidently  waiting  for  me,  stood  my  ministerial 
friend,  who  had  just  before  given  me  five  cents.  All 
kindly  expression  had  left  his  nice,  and  he  was  most  in- 
dignant. He  called  me  a  cheat  and  an  impostor,  de- 
clared that  I  ought  to  be  punished,  that  he  had  half 
suspected  me  at  the  time  he  gave  me  the  money  (I  had 
told  him  that  I  wanted  it  to  buy  bread  with),  and  that 
he  had  turned  and  followed  me,  with  the  view  of 
watching  my  further  proceedings.  In  my  confusion  I 
stammered  out  something  about  the  coldness  of  the 
weather.  But  he  was  too  angry  and  indignant  to  lis- 
ten to  any  such  arguments — especially  such  patent  ex- 
cuses— and  I  began  to  feel  no  little  alarm  at  my  situa- 
tion when  he  announced  his  intention  of  having  me 
arrested  by  the  first  officer  who  came  along.  I  had  no 
idea,  however,  of  patiently  waiting  till  an  officer  did 
come  along,  and  I  started  off  up  Houston  Street  at  a 
pace  that  was  totally  inconsistent  with  my  apparently 
shattered  condition.  To  my  annoyance,  on  looking  back, 
I  discovered  that  the  gentleman  was  following  me.  I 
hurried  on  all  the  faster.  But,  luckily  for  me,  he  gave 
up  the  chase  at  the  end  of  the  first  block,  for  when  I 
again  looked  round  he  was  retracing  his  steps  to  the 
Bowery.  I  breathed  more  freely  ;  and,  gradually  reas- 
suming  my  slow  and  limping  gait,  I  emerged  once  more 
on  Broadway,  and  crossed  over  to  the  other  side. 

The  sidewalk  was  thronged,  and  I  began  steadily 


44  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

but  cautiously  to  ply  ruy  fraudulent  vocation  once 
more.  I  walked  slowly  up,  confining  my  attentions 
principally  to  those  ladies  who  were  looking  into  shop- 
windows.  This  was  the  most  successful  hour  of  the 
day.  Before  I  reached  Union  Square  I  had  increased 
my  stock  of  funds  by  thirty-two  cents.  Along  the 
Broadway  side  of  Union  Square  I  took  nothing.  But 
from  the  northwest  corner  of  the  square  up  to  Twenty- 
third  Street  I  again  reaped  a  bountiful  harvest,  and  a 
little  more  between  the  Hoffman  House  and  Thirty- 
fourth  Street.  From  that  point  I  struck  across  to 
Fourth  Avenue,  but  Fourth  Avenue  is  far  from  being  a 
good  begging-district.  I  did  not  take  a  single  cent  all 
the  way  down  to  Tenth  Street.  There  were  no  loungers 
about.  Every  one  I  passed  seemed  to  be  in  a  despe- 
rate hurry,  either  to  get  home  or  to  reach  the  Harlem 
Depot. 

But  by  this  time  it  was  seven  o'clock,  and  a  few  spits 
of  snow  were  beginning  to  fall,  so  I  determined  to  seek 
the  lodgings  of  my  theatrical  friend.  I  had  had,  too, 
quite  enough  of  amateur  begging.  As  soon  as  I  had 
had  a  good  wash,  and  had  assumed  my  ordinary  cloth- 
ing, I  lit  a  cigar  and  sat  down  to  talk  over  the  events 
of  the  day  with  my  friend.  He  was  astonished  at  my 
success.  For,  when  we  came  to  turn  out  the  pockets 
of  my  begging  pantaloons,  we  found  no  less  than  $2.33 
as  the  result  of  my  day's  labors,  and  to  this  sum  must 
he  added  the  ten  cents  which  I  had  expended  in  the 
Bowery  liquor-saloon  for  that  hot  whisky-punch  which 


THE   AMATEUR   BEGGAR.  45 

came  so  near  to  getting  me  into  trouble.  This  was 
not  bad  business  for  less  than  seven  hours'  work ! 

Certainly  the  most  successful  begging-walks,  as  far 
as  my  experience  goes,  are  between  Bleecker  and  Four- 
teenth Streets,  and  Seventeenth  and  Twenty  -  third 
Streets.  In  some  cases  a  party  of  three  ladies  will  each 
give  a  trifle.  The  porticoes  of  the  principal  hotels,  too, 
are  generally  good  for  five  or  ten  cents.  Elderly, 
respectable  ladies  and  young  girls  from  eighteen  to  five- 
and-twenty  years  of  age  seem  to  be  much  more  willing 
to  give  away  small  sums  in  the  streets  than  gentlemen 
or  fashionably-dressed  middle-aged  ladies.  I  can  only 
say  that  I  found  it  so  in  my  one  solitary  experience  of 
begging.  Begging  in  bar-rooms  up-town  appears  to  be 
useless  (the  begging  fraternity  have  long  given  it  up), 
though  in  the  business  quarters  of  the  city  it  is  consid- 
ered to  be  a  very  profitable  branch  of  the  profession. 

I  must  confess  that  my  personal  experiences  in  beg- 
ging have  vastly  increased  my  sympathy  for  beggars. 
The  hardships  of  such  a  life  must  be  fearful,  especially 
in  the  depth  of  winter.  And  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that,  though  professional  begging  is  a  most  unmanly 
if  not  dishonest  means  of  making  a  living,  the  profes- 
sional beggar  earns  every  cent  he  gets.  It  would  re- 
quire a  large  sum  to  tempt  me  again  to  tramp  the 
streets  as  an  Amateur  Beggar.  "  A.  P." 


AFTER  THE  GAMBLING  AND  PANEL 
HOUSES. 

No  street  of  this  great  metropolis,  however  fashion- 
able, not  one  of  the  avenues  where  the  elite  of  New- 
York  society  loves  to  congregate,  can  boast  that  it  is 
free  from  gambling-houses  and  houses  of  prostitution. 
How  many  gambling-houses  there  are  and  what  is  the 
amount  of  money  annually  lost  and  won  in  them,  it  is 
impossible  to  say ;  but  certain  statistics,  carefully  col- 
lected by  trustworthy  men  from  trustworthy  sources, 
disclose  the  startling  fact  that  there  are  nearly  9,000 
prostitutes  in  New- York  City ;  that  over  $10,000,000 
is  invested  in  houses  of  assignation  and  prostitution,  and 
that  the  annual  income  of  the  keepers  of  them  is  over 
$8,000,000  a  year.  There  is  every  grade  of  both  of  these 
classes  of  houses,  and  their  business  is  carried  on  with  an 
openness  and  a  freedom  from  interference  on  the  part  of 
the  police  which  is  perfectly  astounding.  Among  the 
worst  and  the  most  dangerous  of  bad  resorts  are,  un- 
doubtedly, the  common  gambling-houses  where  they 
play  keno,  and  the  houses  of  prostitution  known  as 
panel-houses  ;  for  it  is  in  these  places  that  young  men5 


AFTER  THE  GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  IIOUSES.  47 

in  committing  one  sin,  are  led  into  the  commission  of 
another.  In  them  they  are  ruthlessly  robbed,  and  only 
too  frequently  are  tempted  to  rob  others  to  make  good 
their  loss.  There  are  the  most  stringent  laws  against 
these  establishments,  but  they  are  seldom  carried  out. 
In  fact,  it  is  openly  asserted  by  numbers,  who  profess  to 
know,  that  the  police  regularly  receive  sums  of  money 
not  to  report  these  houses  to  the  authorities. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  case  constantly  being 
dinned  into  my  ear,  till  I  had  heard  so  much  of  the 
rascalities  committed  by  the  proprietors  of  these  places 
that  I  determined  to  see  for  myself  and  to  make  some 
personal  investigations  about  them  and  the  way  in 
which  they  carry  on  their  infamous  business.  Securing 
the  cooperation  of  an  able  short-hand  reporter,  I  set  to 
work  and  spent  night  after  night  in  making  as  careful 
and  strict  an  investigation  as  circumstances  would  per- 
mit. At  all  events,  when  I  retired  from  the  field,  we 
had  in  our  possession  a  collection  of  notes  wrhich  em- 
body some  startling  information  on  the  subject  and 
which,  excluding  some  matters  wrhich  it  is  impossible 
to  present  in  any  shape  fit  for  publication,  but  which 
are  at  the  service  of  the  police  authorities — that  is,  if 
they  be  really  unaware  of  what  is  going  on  under  their 
noses — I  give  to  the  world  as  a  warning  to  young  men, 
of  the  great  risks  they  run  in  being  persuaded  to  enter 
such  places,  either  by  artful  strangers  or  dissolute  ac- 
quaintances. The  reader  will  please  note  that  all  the 
gambling  and  panel  houses  of  which  I  write,  are  in  the 


48  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

immediate  vicinity  of  police  headquarters,  and  should, 
therefore,  be  far  easier  for  the  police,  than  for  me  to 
discover.  But  I  beg,  also,  to  assure  the  reader  that 
there  is  no  magic  circle  drawn  round  that  particular 
quarter  of  the  city — a  circle,  inside  which  it  is  danger- 
ous to  tread  and  outside  which  vicious  appetites  may 
be  indulged  with  impunity.  No  such  thing!  These 
infamous  dens  of  robbery  are  to  be  met  with  in  every 
ward  of  the  city ;  the  only  difference  being  that,  whereas 
in  some  precincts  they  seem  to  be  allowed  every  license, 
in  others  they  are  sharply  looked  after  as  soon  as  they 
are  discovered. 

I  determined  to  strike  at  once  into  Mercer  Street, 
the  heart  of  the  panel-house  district  of  the  Eighth  Ward, 
and  where  a  man,  known  as  the  King  of  the  Badger- 
Pullers,  holds  his  regal  sway  in  more  than  one  house  of 
this  class.  This  man  has  followed  this  infamous  mode 
of  making  money  since  the  bounty  business  came  to  an 
end  in  1865.  He  then  opened  a  panel-house  in  the 
eighth  precinct,  but  was  driven  out  of  it  by  Captain 
Mills.  Migrating  to  the  Fourteenth  Ward,  he  was,  for 
a  time,  very  successful  in  his  robberies.  But  Captain 
Walsh  at  last  arrested  him,  his  pimps,  and  his  girls, 
and  they  were  all  shipped  off  to  Blackwell's  Island  for 
change  of  air.  On  gaining  his  release,  this  scoundrel 
betook  himself  to  his  old  business  and  has  now  no  less 
than  five  houses  in  full  blast,  and  has  acquired  his  very 
unenviable  title  in  consequence.  He  is  reported  to 
be  worth  at  least  $150,000.     Two  years  ago  he  was 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL   nOUSES.  49 

a  candidate  for  the  office  of  assistant  alderman  on  the 
Democratic  ticket ;  an  office  for  which  he  had  a  very 
good  show  of  election,  as  he  is  captain  of  a  very  strong 
political  organization,  to  which  all  the  leading  Tam- 
many Hall  politicians  belong,  including  the  present 
police-captain  of  the  precinct  in  which  he  runs  his 
panel-houses. 

Having  received  information  as  to  the  number  of 
one  of  this  man's  houses  in  Mercer  Street,1  I  deter- 
mined, one  evening,  to  watch  it,  and  to  take  particular 
note  of  all  persons  entering  or  leaving ;  "  a  little  pri- 
vate detective  business,"  as  my  short-hand  reporter  put 
it.  We  were  of  necessity  very  cautious  in  our  move- 
ments, walking  about  like  other  passers-by,  whenever 
the  policeman  hove  in  sight.  The  officer  on  duty  wore 
the  number  477  on  his  cap.  Apparently  his  beat  lay 
between  No.  130  Mercer  Street,  and  the  corner  of  Hous- 
ton Street,  a  distance  of  about  three  hundred  feet,  though 
it  is  possible  that  he  neglected  the  other  part  of  his  beat. 
Certain  it  is  that  he  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  even- 
ing on  that  part  of  the  sidewalk  immediately  opposite 
the  house  No.  — ,  and  on  one  occasion  he  left  his  post 
and  entered  the  house,  remaining  there  for  nearly  ten 
minutes.     On  leaving  the  house  he  remained  standing 

1  The  numbers  of  houses  have  been  left  blank,  as  the  character  of  their 
inmates  may  have  changed,  as  may  also  the  ownership  of  the  houses,  since 
this  article  was  written  three  years  ago.  The  names  of  the  proprietors  have 
also  been  suppressed,  as  some  are  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  some  have  left 
the  city. 


50  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

at  the  corner  of  Houston  Street  nearly  all  the  time  till 
lie  was  relieved  at  midnight. 

Soon  after  the  officer  had  taken  up  his  corner  posi- 
tion, a  stout,  plainly-dressed  man  approached  him,  and 
entered  into  conversation.  My  reporter  immediately 
went  after  them,  leaving  me  to  watch  the  house,  and, 
unknown  to  them,  overheard  their  conversation.  The 
man  was  explaining  to  the  officer  that  he  had  been 
robbed  at  the  house  No.  —  the  night  before,  and  was 
asking  what  he  could  do  to  recover  his  money  or  bring 
the  thieves  to  justice.  The  officer  recommended  him  to 
stand  on  Broadway  in  the  daytime,  and  when  he  saw 
the  girl  who  had  inveigled  him  into  the  house,  to  point 
her  out  to  the  nearest  policeman,  who  would  be  bound 
to  arrest  her  ;  then  to  go  with  the  policeman  to  the  sta- 
tion-house to  prefer  a  complaint,  and  afterward  to  the 
Police  Court  to  testify  against  her.  This  course  the 
man  seemed  unwilling  to  pursue,  and  he  went  away 
without  announcing  what  his  intention  might  be. 
Now,  this  officer  knew  two  facts :  first,  that  these 
panel-house  girls  never  walk  Broadway  in  the  day- 
time ;  and,  secondly,  that  when  a  good  haul  has  been 
made,  the  girl  is  sent  away  for  two  or  three  days.  He 
might  be  said  to  know  with  equal  certainty  that  the 
man  would  not  be  willing  to  appear  in  a  Police  Court 
as  the  prosecutor  in  such  a  case. 

On  the  man  taking  his  departure,  the  reporter 
quietly  entered  into  conversation  with  the  officer,  as 
though  he  had  only  just  sauntered  up ;  but,  after  they 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  HOUSES.  51 

had  been  talking  together  for  two  or  three  minutes,  a 
runner  from  the  panel-house  went  up  to  the  policeman 
and  told  him  he  wanted  to  speak  to  him  a  moment. 
The  two,  who  were  evidently  well  acquainted,  crossed 
together  to  the  upper  corner  of  the  street,  the  officer 
telling  the  reporter  he  would  be  back  in  a  minute. 
Not  caring  to  remain,  the  reporter  rejoined  me.  I  had 
been  quietly  watching  the  house  from  behind  a  pile 
of  bricks,  like  a  cat  after  a  mouse,  for  two  very  respect- 
able-looking men  had  entered  it,  about  ten  minutes 
before,  in  company  with  women.  The  men  shortly  af- 
ter came  out  and  proceeded  up  the  street.  We  fol- 
lowed them  at  a  convenient  distance.  Once  out  of 
sight  of  the  officer,  we  hurried  up  to  them,  and,  ad- 
dressing them,  I  inquired  if  they  knew  the  character 
of  the  house  they  had  just  left  and  if  they  had  lost 
any  thing.  One  seemed  ready  and  willing  to  tell  their 
experience ;  the  other,  the  younger  of  the  two  (both 
had  passed  middle  age)  tried  to  get  his  companion 
away  and  to  prevent  his  saying  any  thing.  He  was 
very  much  excited,  apparently  not  knowing  what  to 
do,  and,  from  the  few  remarks  which  escaped  him,  it 
was  evident  that  he  had  been  robbed.  He  said  in  an 
agitated  voice :  "  They  will  hear  from  me  in  less  than 
ten  minutes."  The  two  gentlemen  then  passed  up 
Houston  Street  to  Broadway,  we  again  following  them. 
At  the  corner  of  Prince  Street  they  met  an  officer,  to 
whom  they  detailed  their  grievances,  and  from  whom, 
by  a  wise,  we  afterward  learned  all  about  the  affair. 


52  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

They  liad  been  robbed  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money. 
Returning  to  Mercer  Street,  we  overheard  a  man  in 
angry  altercation  with  a  woman  who  had  just  left  the 
panel-house.  "  G — d  d — n  you,"  exclaimed  the  man  ; 
"  you've  got  every  d — d  dollar  I  had  in  the  world,  and 
you  may  go  to  h — 1  now  !  " 

These  scenes  were  not  confined  to  Mercer  Street 
alone,  but  were  witnessed  in  other  parts  of  the  purlieus 
of  that  same  Eighth  Ward ;  and  all  night  long  there 
was  constant  communication  between  the  officers  on 
duty  and  the  "  lovers,"  so  called,  of  the  women,  and 
the  "  runners  "  of  these  infamous  dens. 

AVith  a  view  of  testing  the  audacity  of  these  "  run- 
ners," or  "  ropers-in,"  I  took  the  bull  by  the  horns  and 
accosted  one  of  them  ;  and,  assuming  a  drunken  gait 
and  a  country  dialect,  I  innocently  inquired  the  way  to 
the  Bowery.  I  received  the  politest  of  answers,  and, 
hiccoughing  out  "  thank  *ee,"  staggered  away  in  the  di- 
rection pointed  out.  After  having  gone  a  few  yards  I 
deliberately  ran  against  a  lamp-post,  which  gave  me  the 
opportunity  of  turning  my  head  for  a  moment,  to  see 
if  my  unsuspecting  friend  was  taking  any  steps  with  a 
view  to  roping  me  in.  One  glance  was  sufficient. 
There  was  the  runner,  standing  by  the  house  and  di- 
recting the  attention  of  two  of  his  women  toward 
me.  Two  minutes  afterward  they  were  on  either  side 
of  me,  endeavoring  to  beguile  me  into  entering  the 
house.  I,  however,  renewed  my  inquiries  for  the  Bow- 
ery, and  was  told  to  go  to  h — 1. 


AFTER   THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL   HOUSES.  53 

But  by  this  time  the  officer  No.  477,  whom  we  had 
been  compelled  to  pass  many  times  (for,  during  the  even- 
ing, we  had  investigated  several  such  scenes  as  I  have 
described),  had  evidently  become  more  than  suspicious. 
It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  beat  a  retreat  for  a  short 
time,  till  the  relief  should  come  on  at  twelve  o'clock. 
Back  again  in  Mercer  Street  once  more,  we  found  officer 
No.  474  on  the  beat.  On  passing  him  he  viewed  us 
with  considerable  suspicion.  He  had  evidently  been 
warned  of  our  proceedings  by  the  retiring  patrolman. 
Encountering  us  a  little  later — we  were  standing  under 
a  lamp  for  the  purpose  of  catching  his  number — the 
officer  approached  us,  and,  addressing  himself  to  me, 
said  in  a  surly  tone : 

"  Young  man,  I  want  to  know  your  business." 

u  Surely  you  have  no  right  to  ask  that  question,"  I 
remonstrated. 

"  I  want  to  know  your  business,  and  if  you're  gen- 
tlemen you'll  tell  me.  If  not,  I  shall  take  you  in,'1  re- 
joined this  energetic  guardian  of  the  peace. 

The  inquiries  were  put  by  the  officer  in  the  most  of- 
fensive and  rough  manner.  We  civilly  but  firmly  re- 
fused to  answer  them,  and  were  immediately  arrested 
on  the  suspicion  of  being  in  Mercer  Street  with  intent 
to  commit  a  burglary.  We  at  once  prepared  to  accom- 
pany the  officer,  who,  on  our  way  to  the  station-house, 
several  times  insulted  us  by  repeatedly  saying  that  we 
were  no  gentlemen,  and  remarking  that  many  burgla- 
ries were  committed   in  New  York.      On  one  of  his 


54'  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

prisoners  (!),  my  reporter,  who  had  some  legal  knowl- 
edge, remarking  that  an  officer  had  no  right  to  insult 
any  one  he  might  arrest,  the  officer  replied,  surlily : 
"  Why  shouldn't  you  be  insulted  as  well  as  anybody 
else  ?  It  would  be  d — d  difficult  to  insult  the  likes  of 
you." 

On  arriving  at  the  station-house,  the  officer  made 
his  charge,  we  gave  our  names,  addresses,  ages,  and  oc- 
cupations, and  had  not  the  reporter  fortunately  had  his 
credentials  from  his  office  in  his  pocket  (the  sergeant 
refused  to  credit  our  verbal  statements),  we  certainly 
would  have  passed  the  night  in  the  station-house,  as  we 
persistently  refused  to  mention  the  business  we  had  in 
hand.  The  consternation  and  confusion  of  the  officer, 
on  finding  the  identity  of  at  least  one  of  us  vouched 
for,  were  amusing  to  a  degree.  He  was  at  once  sum- 
marily dismissed  to  his  post  by  the  sergeant,  much  in 
the  way  that  Mayor  Nupkins  dismissed  the  chopfallen 
Grummer  after  Mr.  Pickwick  had  explained  the  situa- 
tion. The  sergeant  then  courteously  bowed  us  out, 
giving  us  lights  for  our  cigars  from  a  corner  of  his 
newspaper,  and  politely  holding  the  door  open  as  we 
passed  into  the  street. 

Now,  the  charge  upon  which  this  officer  arrested  us 
was  his  suspicion  that  we  were  in  Mercer  Street  with 
intent  to  commit  a  burglary.  When  at  the  station- 
house  the  only  evidence  that  he  could  bring  forward  to 
substantiate  that  charge  was,  that  he  had  passed  us 
two  or  three  times  on  his  beat  and  that,  on  the  last  oc- 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND   PANEL  HOUSES.  55 

casion  of  his  passing  us,  "  they  stood  under  the  gas- 
lamp  to  try  and  see  my  number  as  I  passed."  Will 
any  intelligent  police-officer  for  one  moment  suppose 
that  two  would-be  burglars  would  deliberately  place 
themselves  under  a  gas-lamp  to  catch  the  number  of  the 
passing  officer  on  the  beat  ?  Will  any  intelligent  reader 
not  more  than  suspect  that  officer  of  having  a  special 
and  personal  reason  for  arresting  us  ?  Will  he  not  feel 
convinced  that  he  had  such  a  reason  ? 

With  regard  to  the  insolence  of  the  officer  while 
making  and  after  having  made  the  arrest,  it  is  only  ne- 
cessary to  quote  two  of  the  rules  from  the  Manual  of  the 
Metropolitan  Police  force : 

Rule  447  says  :  "  Members  of  the  Department  must 
be  civil  and  respectful  to  their  officers,  to  each  other, 
and  to  all  other  persons,  on  all  occasions."  The  last 
clause  of  Rule  517,  relative  to  arrests,  is  still  more  em- 
phatic on  this  point.  It  says :  "  It  is  the  duty  of  a 
policeman  to  keep  his  prisoner  safely,  but  he  has  no 
right  to  use  unnecessary  violence,  and  he  must  not 
even  use  such  language  as  would  be  calculated  to  pro- 
voke or  exasperate  them,  for  such  conduct  tends  to 
create  resistance  in  the  prisoners  and  a  hostile  feeling 
among  the  by-standers  toward  the  policeman." 

These  two  rules  the  officer  manifestly  broke  while 
indulging  in  the,  to  men  of  his  class,  great  luxury  of,  as 
he  thought,  putting  two  gentlemen  to  annoyance  and 
inconvenience.  But  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 
I  was  far  from  being  inconvenienced  or  annoyed.     On 


56  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

the  contrary,  I  was  much  obliged  to  him  for  "  taking  us 
in."  Our  arrest  was  a  decided  incident  in  our  adven- 
ture ;  and,  as  for  our  names  and  addresses  being  printed 
in  the  official  calendar  of  arrests  next  day,  we  cared 
nothing  in  the  first  place,  and  no  one  ever  reads  that 
highly-interesting  public  document,  in  the  second. 

But  I  was  not  content  with  the  results  of  my  inves- 
tigations thus  far.  It  did  not  appear  to  me  that  I  had 
got  at  the  pith  and  marrow  of  the  thing ;  nor  did  it 
appear  to  me  that  I  could  do  so  unless  I  could  contrive 
to  get  behind  the  scenes,  for  the  pith  and  marrow  of 
the  thing  is  the  ease  with  which  the  robbing  in  a  panel- 
house  must  be  accomplished  in  order  to  be  accom- 
plished at  all.  To  get  behind  the  scenes,  then,  was  a 
consummation  of  the  matter  which  I  determined  should 
be  compassed  at  all  reasonable  risk,  and  we  at  once  set 
to  work  to  that  end. 

After  the  exercise  for  many  days  of  the  most  delicate 
and,  I  flatter  myself,  skillful  diplomacy,  we  succeeded  in 
worming  ourselves  into  the  confidence  of  the  keepers  of 
one  of  these  houses.  Through  the  assistance  of  a  private 
detective,  we  discovered  a  panel-house,  the  proprietor 
of  which  was  anxious  to  retire  from  the  neighborhood. 
He  had  taken  a  house  in  Twenty-seventh  Street,  and 
did  not  think  he  could  run  two.  We  soon  secured  an 
interview  with  him,  with  the  ostensible  purpose  of 
taking  the  house  off  his  hands,  and  on  two  occasions 
we  passed  some  time  in  his  private  apartments  and  act- 
ually succeeded  in  witnessing  the  whole  operation  of 


AFTER  TIIE   GAMBLING  AND   PANEL  HOUSES.  57 

panel-tliieving.  We  carefully  inspected  all  the  arrange- 
ments and  contrivances  of  the  house,  with  which  we 
expressed  our  entire  satisfaction,  and  we  were  as  much 
behind  the  scenes  as  the  conjurer's  assistant  or  a  the- 
atrical machinist  at  Niblo's  Garden.  We  soon  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  no  possible  precaution  on  the  part 
of  men  entering  such  houses  can  prevent  their  being 
robbed.  At  each  visit  we  passed  an  hour  in  the  pri- 
vate room  from  which  the  keeper  of  the  house  operates, 
through  the  panel-door,  on  the  pockets  of  his  victims. 
On  our  first  gaining  admission  to  the  house,  the  propri- 
etor proceeded  to  show  us  over  it,  criticising,  with  pro- 
fessional pride,  its  various  arrangements  as  he  went 
along.  "  Perfect !  They  haven't  a  chance,  sir  !  "  he 
would  constantly  remark,  and  then  he. would  chuckle 
and  rub  his  hands  together  with  delight  at  the  thought 
of  the  ease  with  which  he  robbed  his  victims.  This 
man  was  apparently  about  thirty  years  of  age,  strongly 
built,  good  looking,  and  well  dressed.  He  certainly 
did  not  look  like  a  panel-thief.  His  assistant  was  a 
thin,  spare  man,  some  five  years  older.  He  moved 
about  with  the  soft  tread  and  ever-watchful  glance  of 
a  cat,  and  with  a  nervous  quickness  which  at  once  pro- 
claimed him  a  skillful  operator.  He  also  seemed  to  en- 
joy showing  the  house.  The  description  of  the  ground- 
floor  will  suffice. 

The  back-room,  in  which  the  panel-worker  waits 
his  opportunity,  is  almost  unfurnished,  containing  only 
a  lounge,  two  or  three  common  chairs,  and  a  small 


58  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

stove.  The  door  of  this  room  opens  on  to  a  private 
staircase,  which  leads  down  to  the  back  basement  and 
into  an  underground  passage,  which  communicates 
with  the  street  by  a  cellar-door.  The  front-room  is  a 
very  comfortably-furnished  apartment,  about  18x20, 
with  a  large  fire  burning  in  an  open  grate,  and  sepa- 
rated from  the  back-room  by  folding-doors.  The  room- 
door  leading  into  the  entrance-passage  is  close  to  these 
doors,  and  can  apparently  be  fastened  by  a  large  slid- 
ing bolt.  This  bolt  is  a  false  one.  The  head  of  the  bed, 
unusually  high,  is  placed  edgewise  against  the  wall, 
to  face  the  windows,  with  a  couch  behind  it,  just  clear 
of  the  entrance-door.  Thus,  the  victim,  when  in  bed, 
can  neither  see  the  door  by  which  he  entered  nor  the 
folding-doors.  Against  the  folding-doors,  covering  the 
ordinary  opening,  stands  a  heavy,  marble-topped  wash- 
stand.  A  large,  ponderous  looking-glass  hangs  imme- 
diately over  it,  and  two  chairs  are  placed  on  either 
side.  Between  the  windows  there  is  a  dressing-table, 
also  with  a  chair  on  either  side.  The  folding-doors  ap- 
parently cannot  be  opened  because  of  the  wash-stand 
and  looking-glass  and  two  big  bolts.  But  this  is  not 
so.  The  left-hand  door,  instead  of  being  hung  on 
hinges  from  the  ordinary  casing,  has  its  hinges  on  the 
other  door,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  is  kept 
closed  by  a  large,  common  wooden  button-bolt  on  the 
other  side,  in  the  room  in  which  the  panel-thief  is  con- 
cealed. 

Having  thoroughly   inspected    the   house,   we   re- 


AFTER   THE   GAMBLING   AND   PANEL  HOUSES.  59 

turned  to  the  back-room,  and,  with  well-assumed  ease, 
and  having  been  posted  by  the  detective  in  panel- 
house  slang,  we  threw  ourselves  on  the  lounge,  lit 
cigars,  and  opened  a  desultory  conversation  with  our 
host. 

"  Staked  the  captain  ?  " 

"  No.     We're  on  the  break-up." 

"  Staked  the  beat  \  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Heavy  ? " 

"  Five  dollars  a  night." 

For  the  information  of  the  uninitiated,  I  will  ex- 
plain the  meaning  of  this  conversation  :  the  thieves  had 
not  bribed  the  captain  of  the  precinct,  preferring  to  run 
the  risk  of  being  broken  up,  but  they  paid  the  patrol- 
men five  dollars  a  night. 

At  this  moment  steps  were  heard  in  the  passage ; 
the  gas  was  hastily  turned  down,  and  all  kept  breath- 
less silence.  An  elderly  man  entered  the  front-room 
with  a  woman,  and  immediately  all  eyes  were  eagerly 
watching  through  the  little  peep-holes  bored  through 
the  wall  and  doors,  and  into  which  pegs  are  inserted 
the  moment  the  eye  is  withdrawn,  to  prevent  the  light 
showing  through.  The  "  sucker,"  however,  as  the  vic- 
tim is  termed,  became  alarmed  at  something,  and  began 
to  parley  with  his  companion.  "  I  have  been  into  two 
houses  already,  this  evening,  and  have  been  '  rapped 
out '  of  each,"  he  said,  "  for  what  reason  I  don't  know. 
But,  if  I'm  to  be  rapped  out  again,  I  won't  stay." 


60  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

"  That  sucker,"  whispered  the  proprietor  to  his  as- 
sistant, "  has  been  beat  out  of  his  money,  and  hasn't 
found  it  out  yet.  Don't  let  him  squeal  here.  Rap  him 
out  at  once." 

The  elderly  gentleman  was  accordingly  rapped  out, 
and  all  a^ain  assumed  their  seats  and  cigars.  At  this 
moment  the  assistant  discovered  that  the  panel  creaked 
a  little,  and  suggested  more  grease  on  the  hinges. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  head,  "  that  won't  be  noticed  by 
the  sucker  if  the  girl  does  her  part  well." 

The  assistant  was  about  to  say  something  more, 
when  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing.  When  it 
had  subsided  he  laughingly  remarked :  "  It's  very 
strange,  but  when  there's  a  sucker  in  that  front-room  I 
couldn't  cough  to  save  my  life."  The  conversation  then 
turned  on  the  number  of  girls  and  their  lovers  who 
are  connected  with  the  house.  The  rent  and  other 
matters  were  then  discussed,  and  we  were  beginning  to 
wonder  what  we  could  say  or  do  next,  when  the  negro 
servant,  who  had  been  out  on  an  errand,  came  back  in 
a  hurry,  and  whispered  that  one  of  the  girls  had  jnst 
passed  the  house  with  a  sucker. 

"  She's  that  new  girl  who  only  came  to-night,"  said 
the  proprietor  to  his  assistant.  "  You  had  better  hop 
out  and  work  them  in.  She  probably  don't  know  the 
house  in  the  dark." 

The  assistant  kicked  off  his  list  slippers,  drew  on 
his  boots,  and  was  in  the  act  of  putting  on  his  coat, 
when  the  noise  of  the  opening  of  the  street-door  ar- 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING   AND   PANEL   HOUSES.  0>1 

rested  his  preparations,  the  gas  was  again  hurriedly 
turned  down,  smoking  was  forbidden,  and  the  peep- 
holes again  resorted  to.  A  German,  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  entered  the  room  with  a  dark-haired,  flashily- 
dressed  woman,  who  immediately  requested  him  to 
bolt  the  door.  This  he  did,  but  he  might  have  saved 
himself  the  trouble,  for  the  door  was  no  more  closed 
then  than  it  was  before.  These  bolts  are  very  ingeni- 
ous. The  catch  on  the  jamb  of  the  door,  into  which 
the  bolt  slides,  has  three  false  screw-heads  in  it.'  In 
reality,  it  is  not  attached  to  the  door-casing  at  all,  but 
is  fastened  to  the  body  of  the  bolt  by  an  unseen  plate. 
Consequently,  when  the  door  is  opened,  the  catch  goes 
forward  with  the  remainder  of  the  bolt.  This,  of 
course,  was  not  noticed  by  the  man,  as  the  gas  was 
not  turned  up  by  the  woman  till  after  the  door  was 
closed.  While  the  man  was  bolting  the  door,  the 
woman  hurried  to  the  dressing-table,  and  hastily  laid 
her  hat  on  one  chair  and  her  cloak  on  the  other.  This 
action  compelled  the  man  to  place  his  clothes  on  the 
couch  or  on  one  of  the  chairs  bv  the  folding-doors. 
Unless  this  arrangement  is  carried  out,  no  robbery  can 
be  consummated.  When  all  was  ready,  one  of  the  op- 
erators scratched  lightly  on  the  door  with  his  finger- 
nail, to  warn  the  woman  he  was  about  to  enter  the 
room.  The  next  moment  the  button  was  slipped,  the 
man  boldly  opened  the  door  wide,  removed  the  chair 
out  of  his  way,  and  glided  rapidly  to  the  other  chair, 
on  which  the  man's  clothes  lay.     At  this  moment  the 


62  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

woman  redoubled  her  fascinations,  for  the  purpose 
of  distracting  the  attention  of  her  victim,  in  which 
purpose  she  was  eminently  successful.  The  work  of 
going  through  the  man's  pockets  and  what  is  techni- 
cally known  as  "  weeding  "  his  pocket-book,  was  quick- 
ly over,  the  chair  was  quietly  replaced,  the  panel-door 
closed,  and  the  thief  appeared  with  a  roll  of  bills  in 
his  hand.  The  whole  thing  was  done  in  from  twenty 
to  twenty-five  seconds.  Immediately  after  the  closing 
of  the  door,  the  second  man  went  outside,  and,  knock- 
ing on  the  passage-door  of  the  bedroom,  said,  in  a  loud 
whisper : 

"  Jenny,  here's  Joe  ;  hurry  up." 

"  My  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  jumping  up,  "  you 
must  get  away  as  fast  as  you  can.  That's  my  lover. 
He's  dreadful  jealous,  and  would  shoot  you  as  soon  as 
look  at  you  !  " 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  victim  required  no 
pressing  to  do  as  required.  He  jumped  into  his  clothes 
as  fast  as  possible,  only  too  glad  to  get  out  of  the  way 
before  the  appearance  of  the  imaginary  terrible  lover, 
and  apparently  without  the  slightest  notion  that  he 
had  been  robbed.  The  panel-men  had  a  good  laugh,  in 
which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  we  joined ;  and  then, 
thinking  we  had  seen  all  we  wanted  to  see,  we  soon 
after  took  our  leave,  promising  to  return  the  following 
evening  to  talk  business.  We  were  to  pay  them  nine 
hundred  dollars  for  the  balance  of  their  lease.1 

1  The  reader  may  judge  of  the  risk  we  ran  while  in  this  den  from  a  re- 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  HOUSES.  63 

In  the  panel-houses,  where  the  victims  are  compara- 
tively few,  the  robberies  are  on  a  great  scale ;  in  the 
low  gambling-houses,  where  the  victims  flock  in  hun- 
dreds of  a  night,  the  robberies  are  not  individually  so 
large.  Still  they  are  just  as  disastrous  in  their  conse- 
quences, perhaps  more  so,  for  the  gamblers  belong  to  a 
much  poorer  class,  and  only  too  many  of  them  are  mere 
lads.  Here,  in  New  York,  keno  is  the  low-class  gam- 
bler's great  passion ;  and  there  is  no  lack  of  place  and 
opportunity  for  his  indulging  it.  In  the  busiest  part 
of  Broadway,  in  the  neighborhood  of  several  theatres 
and  other  prominent  places  of  amusement,  this  game 
of  keno  is  carried  on  with  unblushing  effrontery,  a 
pair  of  swing  folding-doors  being  generally  the  only 
means  of  shutting  them  out  from  the  public  gaze.  On 
entering,  which  can  be  done  without  questions  of  any 
sort,  the  visitor  finds  himself  in  a  long,  brilliantly- 
lighted  hall,  through  which  innumerable  small  round 
tables,  on  which  lie  keno-cards  and  piles  of  common 
tailor's  buttons,  are  distributed.  Five  or  six  chairs  are 
placed  around  each  table,  and,  by  seven  or  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  they  are  nearly  all  occupied,  and  the 
game  is  in  full  operation.  Frequently  from  two  to  three 
hundred  men  and  lads  are  assembled  in  the  largest  of 

mark  made  by  the  keeper  of  it  when  he  read  this  article :  "  If  I'd  known 

who  that was  when  he  was  in  niy  place,  he'd  have  gone 

out  of  it  in  a  deal  packing-case  with  two  or  three  hundred  weight  of  coal 
around  him  and  been  dumped  into  the  East  River!  "  Our  private  detec- 
tive was  present  in  the  bar-room  which  this  thief  patronizes  when  he  thus 
embosomed  himself. 


64:  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

these  saloons.  On  a  raised  and  inclosed  platform  stand 
the  managers  of  the  concern.  One  of  them  sells  "  tickets  " 
(ivory  checks  as  large  as  a  silver  dollar,  with  black  half- 
moons  on  their  centres).  The  other  attends  to  the  "  urn  " 
and  the  "  tally."  The  urn  is  an  elaborately-carved  affair, 
with  a  top  that  unscrews  to  let  in  the  "  keno-balls  " 
(ivory  balls  inscribed  with  numbers)  "  in  bulk,"  and  a 
bottom  that  contains  a  spring  slide  to  let  them  out  sin- 
gly. Behind  the  man  who  swings  the  urn  is  a  tally- 
board  hanging  against  the  wall.  It  is  pierced  with 
holes,  and  under  each  hole  is  a  number. 

The  first  step  toward  a  game  consists  in  the  selec- 
tion by  the  players  of  one  or  more  cards  from  those 
lying  on  the  several  tables.  As  the  game  is  apparently 
one  of  chance,  there  is  no  opportunity  for  the  exercise 
of  ingenuity  in  this  selection,  yet  some  very  curious 
scenes  occur  at  this  stage  of  the  proceeding.  Each  card 
contains  one  larsre  red  number  in  the  centre  and  fifteen 
small  black  numbers  on  straight  horizontal  lines. 
These  numbers  do  not  "  line  "  perpendicularly.  Dur- 
ing this  selection,  the  visitor  hears  various  exclama- 
tions from  the  motley  crowd  at  the  adjacent  tables. 
"  I  will  try  my  same  old  cards.  I  won  fifty  dollars  on 
them  last  week."  "  D — n  that  card  !  there's  no  luck  in 
it  at  all."  "  Say,  stranger,  there's  no  luck  at  this 
table."  "  Well,  perhaps  Til  bring  luck."  "  Well,  here 
goes  for  old  129 !  If  I  don't  hit  this  time,  I'm  dead 
beat."  "  I  believe  the  only  way  to  make  a  strike  now- 
adays is  to  take  a  club  and  knock  some on  the 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  IIOUSES.  G5 

head  with  it."  A  principal  theme  of  conversation  is 
the  "  big  strikes  "  that  "  lucky  men  "  have  made  during 
])revious  nights.  An  enthusiastic  stutterer  approaches 
the  table:  aD-d-did  you  hear  about  Bill  S-s-Simp- 
kins's  hit  last  night  \  "  Then  in  the  case  of  each  new- 
comer those  present  go  over  all  the  particulars  of  recent 
delightful  and  encouraging  incidents.  "  Yes,"  says  one, 
"  he  got  a  five-ball  keno — second  premium — two  hun- 
dred  and   fifty  dollars  —  near   broke   the  shop  ; 

stopped  the  game  for  twenty  minutes.  He  didn't  get 
his  money  till  this  morning." 

Each  of  tlie  gamblers  has  to  pay  twenty-five  cents 
for  every  card  he  selects  from  those  lying  about  before 
the  play  begins ;  so  the  cash-boys  go  from  table  to 
table,  and  as  each  one  pays  for  a  card  in  money  or 
with  one  of  the  ivory  checks  already  purchased,  the 
cash  boy  or  man  shouts  out  the  red  number  of  the  card, 
and  the  urn-swinger  puts  in  a  peg  under  that  number 
on  a  tally-board.  There  is  no  time  lost.  As  fast  as 
one  collector  of  cash  and  checks  has  shouted  the  num- 
ber of  the  cards  taken  at  one  table,  a  voice  from 
another  part  of  the  room  begins  a  similar  song.  The 
urn-swinger  repeats  each  number  as  he  puts  in  the  peg. 
Meanwhile  an  alert  negro  has  deposited  in  the  urn  a 
quantity  of  "  keno-balls,"  that  are  numbered  to  corre- 
spond with  some  of  the  little  black  numbers  on  the 
cards.  The  tally-pegs  are  then  counted,  and,  as  each 
represents  twenty-five  cents,  their  sum  shows  the  value 
of  the  "  pool  "  that  is  in  the  urn. 


C)G  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Presently  the  urn-swinger  cries  out,  "  Fourteen  dol- 
lars in  the  urn ! "  or  "  Forty  dollars  in  the  urn  !  Who- 
ever gets  keno,  takes  the  pool."  At  once,  all  bend 
studiously  over  their  cards.  Round  swings  the  urn, 
with  a  great  clatter  of  the  balls,  and  round  again. 
Then  the  click  of  the  spring  is  heard  at  the  bottom,  as 
the  operator  pushes  in  the  slide  and  lets  out  a  ball. 
All  listen  eagerly,  for  some  one  may  fail  to  obtain  five 
hundred  dollars — the  highest  premium — by  failing  to 
hear  the  announcement  of  some  number.  As  the  fig- 
ures on  each  ball  are  called  from  the  platform,  each 
player  eagerly  scans  his  cards,  to  see  if  that  number  is 
to  be  found  on  them.  If  it  is,  he  places  a  black  button 
over  it.  Sometimes  twenty  players  in  the  room  will 
thus  cover  a  single  number. 

The  most  absorbing  interest  in  the  game  occurs 
when  the  operator  of  the  urn  is  calling  his  first  ten  fig- 
ures :  for  any  one  who  can  cover  iive  figures,  in  one 
line,  on  one  of  his  cards,  before  ten  balls  are  called, 
gets,  not  only  the  pool,  but  the  highest  premium — five 
hundred  dollars.  Therefore,  players,  who  find  them- 
selves getting  three  or  four  buttons  on  a  line  within 
the  first  half-dozen  calls,  are  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 
There  are  other  premiums  ranging  from  twenty-five  to 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars ;  but  the  game  is  so  ad- 
justed that  they  are  seldom  won.  Yet  there  appear 
to  be  but  few  muttered  complaints  of  cheating  on  the 
part  of  the  gamesters.  As  some  one  of  them  gets  the 
pool  every  game,  or  they  think  they  do.  they  feel  that 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND  PANEL  IIOUSES.  G7 

it's  "  a  pretty  square  thing."  So  they  plod  along  with 
their  buttons,  after  the  stage  of  premium  excitement  is 
passed,  and,  as  one  and  another  gets  three  and  four  on 
a  line,  he  and  his  near  neighbors  be^in  to  take  a  new 
interest  in  the  affair,  for  no  matter  how  many  numbers 
are  called,  he  who  first  gets  "  five  on  a  line  "  takes  the 
pool,  and  "that  is  some  comfort,"  especially  if  many  are 
playing,  for,  in  that  case,  the  pool  is  sometimes  fifty  or 
sixty  dollars,  minus  the  ten  per  cent,  commission  which 
goes  to  the  keeper  of  the  game.  So,  at  last,  while  they 
are  all  solemnly  poring  over  their  cards,  some  one  who 
has,  at  the  calling  of  the  last  figure,  got  his  comple- 
ment of  five,  shouts  "  Keno  !  "  and  he  is  the  winner. 
"  What  number  ?  "  says  the  earnest  urn- worker.  The 
number  of  the  card  being  found  to  correspond  with  one 
of  the  pegged  tally -numbers,  an  attendant  reads  out 
the  five  covered  numbers  of  this  winning  card,  and,  if 
they  are  found  to  correspond  to  five  of  the  balls  just 
taken  from  the  urn,  its  operator  shouts  :  "  Keno  is  cor- 
rect ;  No.  —  takes  the  pool." 

Such  is  the  game  which  appears  to  exercise  so  great 
a  fascination  alike  over  the  politician,  the  banker's 
clerk,  the  burglar,  the  pickpocket,  gray-haired  men  and 
youths,  those  having  plenty  of  money  and  those  who 
go  to  stake  the  dollar  they  have  borrowed  for  the 
purpose  —  though,  perhaps,  ostensibly  to  pay  their 
week's  washing-bill,  and  so  get  their  clean  shirts  out  of 
pawn — all  crowd  in  expectant  and  eager  for  the  fray. 
Some  few  leave  with  triumph  in  their  eye ;  the  bulk 


68  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

of  theni  with  a  sorry,  downcast  look.  These  last  sim- 
ply- think  that  they  have  lost  their  money.  They  have 
been  robbed,  and  don't  know  it.  That  the  proprietors 
of  these  keno-hells  would  never  be  content  with  the 
profit  arising  to  them  ont  of  what  is  left  from  the  ten 
per  cent,  off  the  pools,  after  paying  expenses,  I  felt 
morally  certain.  Moreover,  I  don't  believe  in  the  hon- 
est gambler  being  a  very  widely-propagated  animal. 
After  going  the  round  of  the  principal  keno-houses,  I 
was  convinced  that  I  was  right,  and  I  determined,  if 
possible,  to  discover  how  the  cheating  is  done  in  a 
game  apparently  so  fairly  carried  out. 

I,  therefore,  very  carefully  watched  the  play,  while, 
to  avoid  suspicion,  I  from  time  to  time  took  a  hand  in 
the  game.  A  few  nights  of  watchfulness  brought  me 
the  key  to  the  system,  and  I  was  astonished  at  the  im- 
pudent simplicity  of  the  robbery.  I  presume  its  sim- 
plicity is  the  source  of  its  success.  Gamblers  look  out 
for  something  more  elaborate.  On  the  third  evening, 
at  a  table  near  me,  there  sat  a  man  with  fair  hair  and 
mustache,  no  beard  or  side- whiskers,  dressed  in  pea- 
jacket,  fur  cap,  and  light-colored  pantaloons.  A  large 
Masonic  ring,  with  solitaires  to  match,  also  attracted 
my  attention.  I  had  particularly  noticed  nim,  as  he 
had  called  "  Keno,"  and  had  received  his  winnings  from 
the  clerk  or  waiter.  Soon  after,  two  other  men  sat 
down  at  the  same  table,  and,  after  the  termination  of 
the  next  round,  the  fair-haired  winner  sought  a  table 
which  was  unoccupied  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 


AFTER  THE   GAMBLING  AND   PANEL  HOUSES.  60 

All,  with  the  one  exception  of  myself,  were  too  intent 
on  their  cards  and  buttons  to  notice  him  ;  but,  to  my 
infinite  surprise,  he  soon  called  "  Keno  "  again.  Again 
the  clerk  called  his  numbers  and  paid  him  the  money. 
On  receiving  his  winnings,  he  quietly  sauntered  out  of 
the  room.  Determined  to  see  the  thing  out,  I  changed 
my  position,  but  was  still  puzzled. 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  gentleman  with  long,  black 
hair  and  mustache,  high  silk-hat,  light  overcoat,  and 
black  pantaloons,  dropped  into  a  chair  in  front  of  the 
only  vacant  table,  which  was  close  to  the  one  at  which 
I  sat.  My  attention  was  soon  after  naturally  concen- 
trated on  him  by  his  calling  "  Keno."  The  usual  forms 
having  been  complied  with  and  the  money  paid  to  him, 
the  man  in  question  coolly  stroked  his  mustache,  and, 
in  so  doing,  displayed  a  peculiar  masonic  ring  and  soli- 
taires to  match.  In  an  instant  I  recognized  him  in  spite 
of  his  charged  dress,  his  wig,  and  dyed  mustache,  as 
the  man  who  had,  half  an  hour  before,  twice  called 
"  Keno."  I  was  so  startled  that  I  almost  lost  my  pres- 
ence of  mind.  I  was  on  the  point  of  springing  to  my 
feet  and  denouncing  the  cheat,  when  I  recollected  the 
danger  of  doing  so.  Controlling  my  excitement,  I 
bought  cards,  and,  though  appearing  absorbed  in  the 
game,  cautiously  watched  my  man  in  disguise.  As  the 
numbers  drawn  from  the  urn  were  called  in  the  game, 
I  concealed  my  hands  under  the  table,  and  wrote  the 
numbers  down  with  a  pencil  on  my  shirt-cuff.  Noth- 
ing occurred  till  the  third  game,  when  the  disguised 


70  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

gentleman  again  cried  "  Keno  ! "  A  waiter  called  the 
numbers  of  his  card,  to  which  the  clerk  at  the  desk 
quickly  replied,  "  Correct."  Not  one  of  the  numbers 
on  the  card  corresponded  with  the  numbers  on  my  shirt- 
cuff.  The  following  is  the  fac-simile  of  the  card  which 
purported  to  win.  I  have  it  in  my  possession  now ; 
for,  after  the  cheat  had  left  the  table,  I  quietly  put  it  in 
the  pocket  of  my  overcoat.  The  number  92  is  printed 
in  large  red  figures  in  the  centre,  over  the  other  figures  : 


12  26  30 

51 

79 

8 

18  22 

36 

44     62 
58  68  76 

83 

Here,  then,  was  the  reading  of  the  mystery.  The 
proprietors  allow  the  players  to  win  a  few  pools  dur- 
ing the  evening,  and  occasionally,  pour  encourager  les 
autreSj  a  premium ;  but  the  majority  of  the  pools  are 
won  by  their  own  paid  agents.  I  am  very  glad  that  I 
was  enabled  to  detect  the  fraud.  The  great  popularity 
of  this  game  is  founded  on  the  belief  that  it  is  fairly 
and  squarely  played.  Some  advantage  will  at  least  be 
gained  if  the  votaries  of  keno  are  undeceived  on  this 
point.  Such  knowledge  will,  I  trust,  lead  many  to  es- 
chew it  in  future.  If,  too,  the  details  which  I  have  given 
about  the  panel-house  system  should  imbue  even  only 
a  few  young  men  with  a  wholesome  dread  of  entering 
houses  of  prostitution,  I  shall  be  amply  repaid  for  my 
labors.  Self-protection  is  not  a  very  high  motive  for 
avoiding  vicious  places  of  resort ;  but  it  is  better  that 
than  none  at  alL  "  A.  P." 


THE     AMATEUR     DIVER. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


A  VISIT  TO  DAVY  JONES'S  LOCKER. 

Should  any  reader  of  these  sketches  have  a  linger- 
ing fondness  for  the  traditions  of  his  childhood  that 
there  are  mermaids  in  New-York  Bay,  truth  compels 
me  to  dispel  it,  inconoclast  as  he  may  deem  me.  The 
other  day  I  invaded  the  supposed  realms  of  the  mer- 
maids, at  the  risk  of  furnishing  a  whole  household  of 
them  with  a  week's  provisions,  or  being  forever  detained 
a  prisoner  at  the  bottom  of  the  briny  deep  by  some, 
young  lady  of  the  sea,  who  wears  oyster-shells  and 
mussels  by  way  of  ornament  and  combs  her  hair  with 
a  piece  of  reef-coral,  because  she  happened  to  fall  in  love 
with  me.  And  I  can  quote  Hans  Christian  Andersen 
as  an  authority  that  sea-maids  have  been  known  to  be- 
come enamoured  of  the  inhabitants  of  terra  firma. 
One  of  the  most  charming  of  his  "  Stories  for  the 
Household  "  is  that  of  the  little  sea-princess,  who  saved 
the  life  of  a  prince  from  the  dry  land  and  then  fell 
in  love  with  him,  to  her  own  ultimate  destruction,  for 
she  was  converted  into  sea-foam.  But  the  danger  I  ran 
did  not  amount  to  much — to  be  exact,  it  amounted  to 
nothing.     I  can  vouch  for  the  fact  that  there  are  no 


72  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

mermaids  in  New- York  Bay,  at  least  not  in  that  part 
of  it  which  I  explored.  If  any  one  will  take  the 
trouble  to  follow  my  example,  and  go  see  for  himself, 
I  think  he  will  aoree  with  me  that  the  bottom  of  New- 
York  Bay  is  about  the  last  place  in  the  oceanic  world 
which  the  mermaids  would  be  likely  to  select  for  their 
marine  residence ;  that  is,  if  they  were  proper-minded 
mermaids. 

The  part  of  the  bay  in  which  I  took  my  under-water 
stroll,  was  that  off  the  Battery,  where  the  mighty 
currents  of  the  Hudson  and  East  Rivers  expand  into 
the  open  bay,  bringing  with  them  a  rare  and  unique 
collection,  consisting  of  dead  cats  and  dogs,  the  sewage 
of  the  east  and  west  sides  of  New  York,  the  refuse  of  the 
Fulton,  Washington,  and  other  markets,  and  a  variety 
pf  other  interesting  materials  and  ingredients,  too  un- 
savory to  dwell  upon  and  too  numerous  to  recapitu- 
late. And  yet  the  fish  seem  to  disport  themselves  in 
that  neighborhood  with  more  or  less  satisfaction  to 
themselves,  and  the  youthful  aristocracy  of  the  tene- 
ment-houses in  the  adjacent  wards  appear  to  enjoy  their 
summer  evening  tumble  into  the  water  as  much  as 
though  it  were  as  pure  as  Croton  itself.  I  confess  that 
the  opportunity  I  had  of  making  an  ocular  analysis 
of  the  water  would  debar  me  from  taking  a  plunge  in 
it,  unless  I  was  very  hard  up  for  a  wash. 

It  was  a  balmy,  summery-spring  morning  in  the 
month  of  April,  when  the  writer  might  have  been  seen 
lying  at  full  length,  his  head  resting  on  a  coil  of  rope 


A  VISIT  TO   DAVY  JONES'S   LOCKER.  73 

for  a  pillow,  on  the  deck  of  a  sloop  which  lay  securely 
anchored  fore  and  aft  at  the  spot  I  have  indicated. 
The  world  was  hardly  yet  astir,  for  it  was  but  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  But,  with  all  his  apparent 
laziness,  he  watched  with  an  eager  intentness  all  the 
movements  of  the  divers  as  they  prepared  themselves 
for  their  clay's  work  beneath  the  slowly-heaving  waters, 
increasing,  as  they  did,  in  volume  every  moment,  as  the 
ocean  hurled  back  its  Atlantic  forces  against  the  river's 
stream — for  he  was  for  the  nonce  their  visitor  and  their 
pupil.  He  was  himself  ambitious  of  treading  the  un- 
beaten, though  not  altogether  unexplored,  paths  of  the 
sea-king's  home,  and  of  gaining  some  insight  into  the 
life  and  experiences  of  a  professional  transactor  of 
"  business  in  great  waters." 

I  had  so  far  ingratiated  myself  with  the  divers  as  to 
gain  their  consent  to  my  putting  on  their  diving-dress, 
and  going  down  for  a  few  minutes  to  the  bottom  of  the 
bay,  in  order  to  gratify  my  curiosity  as  to  the  sensa- 
tions of  artificial  existence  and  the  appearance  of  things 
in  general  down  in  the  hidden  depths.  I  was  burning 
with  an  insatiable  desire  to  investigate  the  contents  of 
Mr.  Davy  Jones's  Locker,  and  my  desire  was  about  to 
be  gratified. 

I  had  been  studying  the  men  and  thinking  of  their 
strange  occupation  till  I  had  fallen  into  an  abstracted 
reverie,  and  I  was  almost  startled  when — "  Now,  sir,  if 
you  really  mean  to  go  down,  we're  ready  for  you," 
roused  me  in  a  moment,  and,  springing  up,  I  said :  "  Of 

6 


74  THE  A3IATEUR  VAGABOND. 

course  I  do ;  I'm  ready,  too."  I  was  ready  with  a  ven- 
geance. 

Never  did  human  ingenuity  invent  any  thing  which 
renders  one  so  thoroughly  ludicrous  to  behold  as  a 
diver's  dress.  No,  not  ludicrous,  but  horrible ;  for 
there  is,  in  the  appearance  of  a  dressed  diver,  a  good 
deal  that  is  very  suggestive  of  a  wretched  criminal 
standing  under  the  gallows,  and  about  to  be  launched 
into  eternity.  The  association  of  ideas  is  considerably 
strengthened  by  the  air-tube  which  enters  the  helmet, 
looking,  for  all  the  world,  like  the  rope  dangling  from 
the  beam. 

One  of  the  divers  kindly  lent  me  his  paraphernalia 
and  also  aided  me  in  putting  it  on.  After  removing 
my  own  clothing,  I  put  on  an  immensely  thick  and 
heavy  knitted  woolen  shirt,  drawers,  and  stockings. 
Over  these  I  had  to  put  on  a  garment  which  was  by 
no  means  easy  to  struggle  into.  It  was  a  water-proof 
dress  of  one  thickness  of  India-rubber  between  two 
thicknesses  of  canvas,  and  comprising  jacket,  panta- 
loons, and  stockings,  all  in  one.  My  boots  were  a 
stout,  rough  pair,  with  sixteen  pounds  of  lead  attached 
to  the  soles.  At  the  wrists  the  sleeves  had  a  brass 
band  inserted,  and  the  tops  of  the  water-proof  gloves 
had  a  similar  band,  which  just  fitted  outside  the  one 
on  the  sleeves.  By  means  of  screws  these  two  bands 
were  jammed  so  tightly  together  that  it  was  impossible 
for  any  water  to  force  its  way  in.  Similar  bands,  held 
together  by  twelve  bolts  and  nuts,  attached  the  brass 


A  VISIT  TO   DAVY   JONES'S   LOCKER.  75 

collar  to  the  top  of  tlie  water-proof  dress.  Into  tins 
collar  the  head-piece  or  helmet  is  inserted,  and  is  fixed 
in  its  place  by  a  quarter-turn  screw.  The  helmet  is 
made  of  brass  and  looks  like  an  inverted  round  pitcher, 
without  a  handle.  It  has  a  small  window  on  either  side, 
between  the  eye  and  ear,  and  a  round  glass  in  front 
of  the  face,  which  screws  in  and  out  like  the  lenses  of 
a  telescope.  The  air  is  forced  into  the  helmet  by  a  com- 
mon suction  air-pump,  from  which  it  escapes  through  a 
small  valve  governed  by  a  spiral  spring.  Thus,  fresh 
streams  of  compressed  air  are  constantly  passing  in 
through  the  tube  and  out  through  the  valve.  The 
helmet  and  collar  weigh  twenty-five  pounds.  The 
best  part  of  one  hundred  pounds  of  lead,  fastened 
round  the  chest,  completed  my  outfit,  and  I  was  ready 
to  make  my  call  on  any  one  I  might  find  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bay. 

"  What  an  indigestible  morsel  I  should  make  for  a 
shark,  with  all  this  lead  about  me  !  "  was  my  reflection 
as  I  stepped  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  and  slowly  de- 
scended the  short  ladder  hanging  from  the  gunwale. 
Gradually  I  slid  into  the  water  and  was  soon  immersed. 
"  My  God  !  what  is  that  ?  "  I  thought,  as  I  disappeared 
below  the  surface.  It  felt  as  though  some  one  had  run 
an  iron  rod  clean  through  my  head  from  one  ear  to  the 
other.  The  next  moment  the  same  sensation  passed 
through  both  eyes  to  the  back  of  the  head.  The  j)ain 
increased  as  I  went  down,  till  at  last  I  felt  as  though  I 
had  a  red-hot  gridiron  in  my  brain.     As  I  went  down 


76  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

and  down,  it  seemed  as  though  my  cranium  must  ex- 
plode, like  an  engine-boiler,  and  that  the  drums  of  my 
ears  would  certainly  burst.  I  was  on  the  point  of  pull- 
ing the  signal-rope  to  be  hauled  up,  when  my  feet 
touched  the  bottom.  I  stood  perfectly  still  for  a  while, 
and  the  pressure  on  the  brain  from  the  compressed  air 
soon  began  to  decrease.  In  a  minute  it  had  so  far  gone 
off  that  I  gave  up  any  idea  of  signaling  to  the  divers 
above  that  I  wanted  to  come  up.  But  faint  sounds  of 
music  seemed  to  strike  my  ear,  as  of  some  one  humming 
in  an  undertone.  It  was  no  "  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's 
back,  uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath  that 
the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song.'7  It  was  simply  a 
rather  severe  attack  of  that  detestable  and  very  com- 
monplace annoyance — singing  in  the  ear. 

I  was,  however,  much  surprised  at  the  enormous 
pressure  of  the  water  on  my  body  and  limbs ;  some- 
thing far  beyond  any  thing  that  one  experiences  in 
swimming.  The  apparent  difficulty  of  keeping  my 
feet  on  the  ground,  too,  struck  me  as  being  rather  ex- 
traordinary, considering  that  I  was  so  heavily  weighted. 
I  stooped  down  to  touch  .the  bottom  with  my  hand,  in 
order  to  feel  what  I  was  standing  on,  when  up  went 
my  feet.  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  regaining 
them.  This  was  afterward  explained  to  me  by  the 
divers.  It  arose  from  a  very  simple  cause.  The  air  in- 
troduced into  the  helmet  forces  its  way  down  into  the 
clothing,  and  inflates  it  to  some  extent.  This  inflation 
i*,  of  course,  greater  about  the  legs,  where  the  diving- 


, 


A  VISIT  TO  DAVY  JONES'S  LOCKER.  77 

dress  does  not  fit  so  closely  as  it  does  about  the  body. 
The  air  -  pressure  is  necessarily  very  great  —  fifteen 
pounds  to  the  square  inch  for  every  fo</t  descended  be- 
low the  surface — and  it  seems  to  carry  on  a  continual 
warfare  with  the  outside  pressure  of  the  water.  About 
a  month  ago,  a  diver  who  was  working  in  the  North 
River,  off  Sixty-first  Street,  was  forced  off  his  feet  by 
the  ballooning  of  the  legs  of  his  dress,  and  his  legs 
went  up  in  the  water  above  his  head.  He  appears  to 
have  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  for,  when  his  comrades 
hauled  him  up,  they  found  that  he  had  cut  the  air-tube 
with  his  knife.  Poor  fellow,  he  paid  for  this  foolish 
action  with  his  life. 

But  the  thing  of  all  others  which  astonished  me 
most  was  the  total  inability  to  see  any  thing  at  the  bot- 
tom. I  could  not  even  see  my  hand  when  I  put  it  be- 
fore the  glass  window  in  the  helmet.  I  was  grievously 
disappointed  ;  for  I  had  fully  anticipated  being  able  to 
give  a  pen-picture  of  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  to  describe 
the  astonishment  of  the  fishes  on  seeing  me,  and  inter- 
view any  dead  bodies  or  skeletons  I  might  come  across. 
And  my  friends  the  mermaids,  too  !  Had  they  been 
around,  they  might  have  played  all  sorts  of  tricks  with 
me  without  my  being  able  to  discover  their  where- 
abouts. I  should  have  been  like  the  luckless  one  who 
is  blindfolded,  turned  round  three  times  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  then  told  to  catch  who  he  may,  in  a 
game  of  blind-man's-buff. 

Two   or  three   times  I  fancied   that   a   small   fish 


78  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

touched  me ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  was 
only  imaginary ;  probably  some  eddy  in  the  water,  or 
a  bit  of  floating  sea-weed,  or  something  else.  The  only 
thing  I  really  encountered  was  the  rough  angle  of  a 
stone.  I  started  as  though  a  shark  were  after  me,  and 
any  thing  but  blessed  the  spring-freshets  which  had 
rendered  the  water  so  thick  and  muddy  as  to  envelop 
the  bottom  in  all  the  darkness  of  the  land  of  Egypt. 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  could  no  more  pierce 
the  darkness  of  the  dense  water  than  Mr.  Weller  could 
"  see  through  a  flight  of  stairs  and  a  deal-door."  I  was 
at  first  inclined  to  think  that  the  inability  to  see  was 
the  result  of  disorganization  of  the  optic  nerve,  caused 
by  the  great  pressure  on  the  brain.  But  I  could  not 
see  better  when  the  pressure  began  to  decrease,  nor 
could  I  when  I  had  become  tolerably  comfortable. 

I  found  the  temperature  no  colder  than  it  was  when 
I  left  the  deck  of  the  sloop  ;  but  this  may  be  accounted 
for  by  the  thickness  of  the  clothing  I  wore,  and  by  the 
fact  that  the  water  did  not  come  in  contact  with  the 
pores  of  the  skin.  After  I  had  been  down  some  min- 
utes, "  groping  blindly  in  the  darkness,"  I  became 
aware  of  a  pain  in  the  lower  part  of  the  abdomen, 
caused  by  the  great  pressure  of  the  water.  In  two  or 
three  minutes  this  pain  became  so  intense  that,  having 
assured  myself  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  and 
nothing  to  do  but  to  walk  blindly  about,  I  tugged  at 
the  signal-rope,  and  telegraphed  to  the  divers  that  I 
wished  to  be  drawn  up.     I  shot  up  through  the  water 


A  VISIT  TO   DAVY  JONES'S  LOCKER.  79 

much  faster  than  I  had  gone  clown,  and,  as  I  clambered 
up  the  ladder,  the  tender  immediately  unscrewed  the 
glass  mouth-piece  and  admitted  the  natural  air.  What 
a  Ions;  breath  I  drew  !  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  never 
before  properly  appreciated  the  luxuries  of  pure  oxy- 
gen. And  what  a  relief,  too,  it  was  to  get  out  of  that 
heavy  brass  helmet !  Let  any  one  imagine  himself 
wearing  a  hat  weighing  twenty-five  pounds  while  en- 
during the  agonies  of  a  splitting  headache,  and  he  may 
gain  some  slight  conception  of  the  discomforts  of  a 
diver's  helmet.  However,  I  was  soon  once  more  ar- 
rayed in  the  costume  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  de- 
tailing to  my  curious  listeners  my  experience  as  an  ama- 
teur diver. 

One  of  them,  who  has  been  engaged  in  the  business 
over  twenty  years,  told  me  that  he  had  expected  me  to 
signal  to  come  up  before  I  reached  the  bottom.  "  Why, 
sir,"  he  said,  "we  have  many  a  strong  young  chap  come 
to  us,  meaning  to  earn  his  living  at  diving.  They  go 
down,  and  directly  they  get  below  the  surface  the 
blood  gushes  out  from  their  nose  and  mouth.  They 
don't  take  long  in  signalling  to  come  up,  you  may  bet 
your  life  on  that." 

I  asked  him  the  cause  of  the  pressure  on  the  brain. 

He  replied  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  the  ex- 
treme density  of  the  compressed  air.  "The  deeper 
you  go  the  worse  it  is,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  down  as 
low  as  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet.  But  you  can't 
work  much  at  that  depth ;  they  can't  force  air  enough 


80  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

down  to  you.  It's  just  as  difficult  to  force  air  down 
to  a  great  depth  as  it  is  to  force  water  up  to  a  great 
height." 

"  What  is  the  greatest  depth  that  a  diver  has  been 
known  to  go  down  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  in  the  lakes  you  can't  go  lower  than  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet.  But  I  have  heard  of  a  man  in 
England  who  went  down  a  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet. 
You  see,  at  that  depth,  you  can  breathe  out  much  more 
easily  than  you  can  breathe  in.  This  makes  it  very 
difficult  to  keep  the  lungs  full  of  air,  and  produces  a 
short,  quick,  almost  gasping,  for  breath.  Any  work 
would  exhaust  a  man  in  a  minute  or  two  down  there. 
In  twenty  feet  of  water  a  man  can  go  down  and  work 
four  hours  at  a  stretch.  Four  hours  is  a  day's  work  for 
a  diver.  There  is  a  great  difference  between  summer 
and  winter.  In  summer  the  air  has  to  be  pumped 
through  ice-cylinders.  Divers  earn  good  wages — the 
best  of  them  ten  dollars  a  day ;  but  it  ain't  much  pay 
when  you  take  into  consideration  the  work  they  do. 
It  tells  on  them  in  time ;  it  affects  their  lungs  and  hear- 
ing. I  am  myself  very  deaf  at  times.  And,  if  a  man 
has  got  any  thing  wrong  with  his  heart,  he'll  soon  kill 
himself.  One  never  seems  to  get  accustomed  to  it.  If 
I  stay  off  for  a  month  or  so,  I  feel  all  the  pressure  in 
the  head  I  felt  the  first  time  I  went  down.  The  only 
natural-born  divers  I  ever  met  are  the  natives  of  Hono- 
lulu. They  dive  without  a  dress — -just  catch  hold  of  a 
big  stone,  hold  on  tight  to  it,  and  let  it  carry  them 


A  VISIT  TO  DAVY  JONES'S  LOCKER.  81 

down,  head  first.  They  think  nothing  of  going  down 
four  or  five  fathoms.  They  will  dive  and  steal  the  coj> 
per  from  piles  or  the  bottoms  of  tenders.  The  water's 
very  clear  out  there,  you  know.  At  Midway  Island, 
half-way  between  China  and  San  Francisco,  I  could  see 
the  diver  at  work  at  least  twenty-four  feet  down.  "No, 
the  natives  of  Honolulu  beat  all  others  at  diving.  I 
once  saw  one  of  their  naked  divers  go  down  in  thirty 
fathoms  of  water,  and  bend  a  line  round  the  lost  an- 
chor of  a  man-of-war.  But  that  was,  of  course,  quite 
an  exceptional  case." 

All  the  divers  had  stories  to  tell  of  hair-breadth 
escapes  in  searching  wrecks,  and  from  suffocation. 
They  seem  to  have  traveled  in  all  parts  of  the  world ; 
the  demand  for  their  services  being  greater  than  the 
supply  of  good  divers.  I  found  them  exceedingly  in- 
telligent men,  but  all  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
they  could  take  contracts  for  themselves,  and  employ 
other  divers  to  do  the  work,  instead  of  having  to  go 
down  themselves.  I  think  they  are  right.  Diving  is 
far  from  a  pleasant  occupation.  Personally,  I  would 
rather  sweep  a  crossing  than  go  in  for  diving  as  a  means 

of  earning  a  living, 

"A.  P." 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR 

The  terrible  tragedies  lately  enacted  by  certain  so- 
called  physicians  in  this  city,  or,  at  least,  under  their 
direction  or  with  their  connivance,  have  directed  pub- 
lic attention  to  the  very  pertinent  inquiry,  "  Who  and 
what  are  these  men,  and  whence  do  they  get  their  di- 
plomas and  their  licenses  to  practise  ?  "  One  of  these 
miserable  wretches,  Jacob  Kosenzweig — the  man  who, 
for  the  sake  of  a  few  dollars,  sent  the  unfortunate 
Alice  Augusta  Bowlsby  to  an  untimely  grave  and 
thereby  plunged  two  respectable  families  into  the 
direst  distress — has  asserted,  since  he  has  been  in  pris- 
on, that  he  held  a  diploma  from  the  Eclectic  Medical 
College  of  Philadelphia.  On  the  wall  of  one  of  the 
rooms  of  his  house,  on  Second  Avenue,  there  hung, 
framed  and  glazed,  what  certainly  purported  to  be  a 
diploma  from  that  institution.  Among  his  papers  now 
in  the  hands  of  the  police,  is  one,  written  in  Latin, 
beginning,  "  Universitatis  Americance  apud  Philidel- 
phiam"  and  addressed  to  Jacob  Kosenzweig.  For  a 
long  time  past  this  college  has  had  ao  evil  reputation 
for  trafficking  in  diplomas  with  any  unqualified  persons 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  83 

who  are  willing  to  pay  an  exorbitant  fee  if  no  ques- 
tions are  asked ;  and,  at  the  time  of  the  Bowlsby 
tragedy,  the  fact  was  generally  commented  on  by  the 
press,  especially  in  Philadelphia.  In  reply  to  these 
comments  the  college  authorities  addressed  the  follow- 
ing letter  to  the  Philadelphia  Morning  Post  It  is 
copied  verbatim : 

Editor  Morning  Post 

Having  my  attention  called  to  an  article  in  your  Editorial  Col- 
umn of  your  Paper  of  the  first  inst  in  regard  to  Rozenberg  the 
Abortionist  being  a  graduate  of  the  eclectic  College  514  Pine 
this  is  a  gross  error  and  a  stigma  on  the  College  as  no  man  by 
that  name  was  ever  entered  on  the  Books  of  this  College  as  a  ma- 
triculand  and  furthermore  the  Party  has  not  a  Diploma  from  this 
School    Respectfully  yours 

Prof  of  Anatomy  R  W  De  Beust  M  D 

514  Pine  Street. 

Certain  points  cannot  escape  the  attention  of  the 
careful  reader  of  this  letter.  1.  Professor  De  Beust  de- 
nies that  a  man  named  Bozenberg  either  graduated  or 
received  a  diploma  from  his  college,  but  he  says  nothing 
of  a  man  named  Bosenzweig.  2.  He  acknowledges  by 
implication  that  the  granting  of  diplomas  to  unquali- 
fied persons  would  be  "  a  stigma  on  the  college."  3. 
His  concluding  sentence  is  a  virtual  admission  that  the 
college  does  grant  diplomas  to  others  than  its  own 
graduates.  Moreover,  the  letter  itself  does  not  give 
the  impression  of  having  been  written  by  a  man  as 
highly  educated  as  a  professor  of  anatomy  in  any  medi- 
cal college  ought  to  be.    The  Morning  Post  replied,  edi- 


84  THE   AMATEUR    VAGABOND. 

torially,  to  the  first  part  of  the  professor's  letter  in  an 
article  which  concluded  as  follows  : 

As  we  did  not  assert  that  Rozenberg  had  received  a  diploma 
from  Buchanan's  college,  but  that  it  is  reported  Rosenzweig  had 
procured  such  a  document  from  the  Pine-Street  "  College,"  we  are 
not  yet  inclined  to  withdraw  the  sentence  so  objectionable  to  Mr. 
De  Beust.  His  jcommunication  is  faithfully  given,  the  original 
copy  being  as  faithfully  preserved.  We  will  not  say  that  Mr.  De 
Beust,  the  "  Professor  of  Anatomy  "  at  the  Eclectic  College,  has 
attempted  to  deceive  the  community  through  our  columns,  but  we 
must  insist  on  having  proof  that  Rosenzweig  did  not  receive  his 
diploma  from  the  same  institution. 

No  reply  has  as  yet  been  received  from  the  college 
to  the  veiy  proper  and  just  demand  of  the  Philadel- 
phia Post.  There  is,  therefore,  presumptive  evidence 
that  no  exonerative  reply  can  be  given.  Nevertheless, 
the  charge  of  granting  medical  diplomas  to  unworthy 
persons  is  not  so  conclusively  brought  home  to  the  col- 
lege by  the  default  as  might  be  deemed  desirable,  and 
I  determined  to  sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom,  and,  if 
possible,  to  produce  direct  and  unimpeachable  evidence. 
"With  this  object  in  view,  I  addressed  the  following  let- 
ter to  the  secretary  of  the  college  in  question,  writing 
under  an  assumed  name,  and  making  suitable  arrange- 
ments for  receiving  a  reply  without  awakening  suspi- 
cion as  to  the  source  whence  the  letter  proceeded : 

Street,  Williamsburgh,  N.  Y.,  September  13,  1871. 

To  the  Secretary  of  the  Eclectic  Medical  College,  Philadelphia. 

Dear  Sir  :  For  two  years  I  studied  medicine  in  England — not 
long  enough  to  entitle  me  to  a  diploma.  I  have  been  profession- 
ally engaged  here  for  the  last  year,  and  now  feel  worthy  of  a  diplo- 
ma.    I  am  told  that  your  college  is  willing  to  grant  diplomas  in 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOPw.  S5 

such  cases,  on  payment  of  fees,  to  respectable  applicants  who  can- 
not afford  the  time  for  a  new  course  and  examination.  Will  you 
kindly  inform  mc  if  such  is  the  case,  and,  if  so,  what  steps  I  must 
take  to  obtain  the  diploma  ?  Also  be  kind  enough  to  inform  me 
what  the  fees  amount  to.     I  trust  they  are  not  very  high. 

I  am,  yours  respectfully,  James  Brown. 


By  return  of  post  an  answer  was  received,  which  at 
once,  to  a  great  extent,  committed  the  college  authori- 
ties. It  was  their  obvious  duty  to  have  handed 
"  James  Brown's  "  letter  to  the  police,  but  their  reply, 
printed  below,  shows  at  a  glance  that  they  were  willing 
to  negotiate.  It  is  written  on  the  official  paper  of  the 
college,  and  signed  by  Professor  John  Buchanan,  one 
of  the  leading  members  of  the  faculty : 

College  Building,  Xo.  514  Pine  Street,  Philadelphia,  ) 

September  14,  1871.        ) 

Dear  Sir  :  Please  call  at  263  Myrtle  Avenue,  Brooklyn,  New 
York,  on  Dr.  Bowlsby. 

Your  letter  has  been  sent  to  him,  and  he  will  attend  to  it. 
I  am,  respectfully  yours, 

John  Buchaxan. 

I  allowed  some  days  to  elapse  before  I  took  any 
action  on  Professor  Buchanan's  communication.  I  then 
wrote,  as  directed,  to  Dr.  Bowlsby  (ominous  name  !), 
hoping  to  elicit  something  more  directly  compromising 
from  that  worthy. 

The  following  is  my  letter  to  Dr.  Bowlsby : 

Street,  Williamsburgh,  September  22,  1871. 

My  dear  Sir  :    In  answer  to  my  application  for  a  diploma  to 
the  Eclectic  Medical  College  of  Philadelphia,  Professor  John  Bu- 


86  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

chanan  has  requested  me  to  communicate  with  you.  This  I  should 
have  done  some  days  ago  had  I  not  been  unexpectedly  called  out 
of  town.  I  assume  from  Dr.  Buchanan's  letter  that,  under  the  spe- 
cial circumstances  detailed  in  my  letter  to  the  college  authorities, 
the  diploma  will  be  granted.  If  you  will  kindly  inform  me  of  the 
amount  of  the  fees,  I  will  at  once  forward  them  to  you  or  to  the 
college,  as  you  may  direct.  I  must  apologize  for  not  calling  upon 
you,  but  my  absence  for  some  days  has  thrown  considerable  extra 
work  on  my  hands.     I  am,  yours  respectfully, 

James  Brown. 
Dr.  Bowlsby,  No.  263  Myrtle  Avenue,  Brooklyn. 

At  noon  on  the  following  Monday,  Dr.  Bowlsby 
called  at  the  address  I  had  given  and  inquired  for 
"  Dr."  Brown.  I  had  taken  the  precaution  of  giving 
instructions  as  to  what  should  be  done  in  such  an  even- 
tuality. He  was  glibly  told  that  Dr.  Brown  was  at 
his  office  in  New  York,  and  would  not  return  till  even- 
ing. "  Ah,"  exclaimed  this  trafficker  in  permits  to 
commit  murder,  already  sniffing  at  the  scent  of  the 
crisp  greenbacks  I  was  to  pay  him  for  one  of  his  devil's 
licenses ;  "  I  wrote  this  letter  to  him  on  Saturday 
night,  but  found  that  I  was  too  late  for  the  post. 
Will  you  be  good  enough  to  hand  it  to  him  when  he 
comes  home  ? " 

He  left  the  following  communication  for  me : 

Brooklyn,  Sevtembcr  23.  1871. 
Dear  Sir  :  Yours  received,  and  contents  noted.     If  the  college 
can  be  satisfied  of  your  legal  qualifications,  the  faculty  will  confer 
the  degree  upon  you  for  one  hundred  dollars. 

I  will  endeavor  to  call  on  you  Monday,  about  twelve  o'clock 
at  noon,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  you.     Yours,  very  sincerely, 
W.  H.  Bowlsby,  M.  D.,  No.  263  Myrtle  Avenue. 
To  Dr.  J.  Brown. 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  87 

This  letter  of  Dr.  Bowlsby's  was  also  written  on 
the  official  paper  of  the  college,  precisely  similar  to  that 
on  which  Professor  Buchanan  replied  to  my  application 
for  a  diploma.  It  will  be  noted,  too,  that  both  of  these 
men  addressed  their  replies  to  "  Dr."  James  Brown, 
though  both  of  them  had  only  too  good  reason  to 
know  that  I  had  never  passed  my  examination  and 
was,  consequently,  not  entitled  to  the  title  of  doctor. 

A  few  minutes  after  having  left  the  above  letter, 
Dr.  Bowlsby  again  rang  the  bell  and  begged  that  I 
would  u  call  upon  him  at  my  earliest  convenience." 
He  was  evidently  anxious  to  secure,  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, James  Brown's  one  hundred  dollars  for  his  thirty- 
dollar  diploma — thirty  dollars  being  the  regular  fee, 
according  to  the  college  prospectus. 

The  sentence  in  Dr.  Bowlsby's  letter,  "  if  the  col- 
lege can  be  satisfied  of  your  legal  qualifications,"  natu- 
rally rendered  me  a  little  cautious,  though  I  did  not 
anticipate  much  trouble  on  the  score  of  qualifications. 
Nevertheless,  in  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  I  traveled 
around  and  at  last  secured  the  services  of  a  young 
medical  student,  who  had  been  through  a  part  only  of 
the  necessary  course  of  instruction  in  medicine  and 
surgery,  to  represent  me,  alias  James  Brown,  in  the 
forthcoming  examination  before  Dr.  Bowlsby.  This 
student,  according  to  the  sworn  affidavits  of  himself 
and  his  instructors,  which  affidavits  are  in  safe  keeping, 
"  cannot  possibly  be  and  is  not  competent  to  pass  such 
an  examination  as  would  entitle  him  to  a  diploma." 


88  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

On  tlie  following  (Tuesday)  evening  I  accompanied 
my  friend,  the  medical  student,  to  the  door  of  Dr. 
Bowlsby's  residence,  No.  263  Myrtle  Avenue,  Brook- 
lyn, and  took  the  opportunity  of  making  a  quiet  sur- 
vey of  the  premises,  while  the  student  passed  through 
the  inquisitorial  fire,  his  whole  interview  with  the  doc- 
tor, however,  lasting  barely  nine  minutes  by  a  neigh- 
boring baker's  clock.  I  naturally  expected  to  see  a 
substantial  and  highly  respectable-looking  house,  such 
as  is  ordinarily  occupied  by  first-class  physicians  and 
college  professors.  To  my  profound  astonishment,  I 
found  that  William  H.  Bowlsby,  M.  D.,  Professor  of 
Gynaecology  in  the  Eclectic  Medical  College  of  Phila- 
delphia, is  the  humble  proprietor  of  a  small,  unpretend- 
ing drug- store.  In  the  window  is  a  placard  announcing 
that  "  Roots,  Barks,  and  Herbs n  may  be  purchased 
within.  Outside  a  colored  transparency  informs  the 
thirsty  wayfarer  that,  in  Bowlsby's  store,  he  can  re- 
fresh himself  with  "  root-beer."  I  do  not  doubt  that 
the  thirsty  wayfarer  could  refresh  himself  with  some- 
thing a  little  stronger  than  root-beer,  if  he  only  asked 
for  it ;  and  that  without  having  to  apply  for  it  under 
the  scientific  name  —  spiritum  frumenti  —  so  handily 
covert  for  selling  whisky  in  a  drug-store  without  a 
license. 

At  the  moment  of  my  arrival,  Dr.  Bowlsby's  chil- 
dren were  rather  boisterously  amusing  themselves  on 
the  pavement  and  in  the  gutter.  This,  on  the  whole, 
looked  well  for  obtaining  the  diploma  on  easy  terms ; 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  89 


and,  for  once,  appearances  were  not  deceitful.  Long 
before  I  expected  rny  companion's  return,  Dr.  Bowlsby 
bowed  out  the  young  aspirant  for  bogus  medical  honors. 

As  soon  as  a  convenient  spot  was  reached,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  take  notes  of  the  conversation  between  Dr. 
Bowlsby  and  the  student.  The  following  is  substan- 
tially what  passed  between  them,  the  student  vouching 
for  its  correctness : 

Student  :  Good  -  evening,  Dr.  Bowlsby.  I  have 
called  upon  you,  as  you  requested,  with  reference  to 
my  application  to  the  college  in  Philadelphia  for  a 
diploma. 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  Oh,  you  are  Dr.  James  Brown,  with 
whom  we  have  been  in  correspondence  ? 

Student  :  Yes. 

Some  desultory  but  unimportant  remarks  then 
passed  in  reference  to  this  correspondence. 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  I  called  at  your  house  yesterday,  but 
you  were  not  at  home. 

Student  :  I  was  at  my  office  in  New  York.  I  only 
sleep  at  home. 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  So  your  landlady  told  me.  Where  is 
your  office  in  New  York  ? 

Student  :  I  would  rather  not  say.  The  fact  is,  I 
have  been  working  with  another  physician  and  taking 
some  of  his  patients.  He  is  under  the  impression  that 
I  already  hold  a  diploma.  Indeed,  I  have  made  repre- 
sentations to  him  to  that  effect.     That  is  the  reason 

why  I  wrote  to  you  from  my  boarding-house  and  not 

7 


90  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

from  my  office.  I  did  not  want  the  college  letters  deliv- 
ered  at  the  office,  for  fear  my  friend's  suspicions  might 
be  aroused. 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :   Quite  right. 

Student  :  I  suppose  the  college  informed  you  of  the 
circumstances  under  which  I  applied  for  a  diploma  \ 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  Yes. 

Student  :  Do  you  think  the  college  will  make  any 
difficulty  about  granting  me  the  diploma  ? 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  Oh,  no.  I  myself  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  give  you  one :  and  I  do  not  think  the  college 
will  hesitate  about  it  if  you  are  qualified  to  practise. 

Student  :  What  are  the  conditions  of  my  obtaining 
a  diploma  ? 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  The  payment  of  one  hundred  dol- 
lars, as  I  said  in  my  letter,  and  the  writing  of  a  thesis 
on  the  branch  of  medical  science  with  which  you  deem 
yourself  best  acquainted.  If  the  thesis  is  well  written, 
it  will  be  published  in  the  next  number  of  The  College 
Journal. 

Student  :  If  it  is  badly  written,  will  that  prevent 
my  getting  the  diploma  ?  , 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :    Oh,  no. 

Student  :  What  are  the  qualifications  ? 

Dr.  Bowlsby  :  You  have  a  fair  knowledge  of  anat- 
omy, I  suppose  ? 

Student  :  Well,  I  have  a  basis.  I  have  not  studied 
lately,  and  am,  perhaps,  a  little  rusty ;  but,  in  a  few 
weeks,  I  think  I  could  work  up  a  fair  examination. 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  91 

Dr.  Bowlsby:  Ah!  that  will  do.  I  shall  make  a 
favorable  representation  of  your  case  to  the  college. 
Gome  here  to-morrow  night,  about  this  time,  and  pay 
me  the  one  hundred  dollars,  and  I  will  have  the  diploma 
for  you  two  or  three  days  afterward. 

Student  :  Good-evening,  Dr.  Bowlsby. 

Dr.  Bowlsby  (bowing  the  student  out) :  Good- 
night, Doctor. 

How  glibly  that  word  "  doctor  "  seems  to  flow  from 
Dr.  Bowlsby's  pen  and  tongue  !  And  that  was  all  the 
examination  which  " Dr.  James  Brown"  had  to  pass  in 
order  to  graduate  and  receive  a  diploma  from  the  Eclec- 
tic Medical  College  of  Philadelphia. 

The  published  prospectus  of  the  college  furnishes  the 
following  ordinance  as  to  examination  and  graduation : 

The  requirements  for  graduation  are :  The  candidate  must  be 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  />ass  a  satisfactory  examination  be- 
fore the  several  jwofessors  on  the  following  subjects :  Chemistry 
and  toxicology,  anatomy  and  histology,  materia  medica  and  general 
therapeutics,  physiology  and  hygiene,  principles  and  practice  of 
medicine,  principles  and  practice  of  surgery,  obstetrics  and  diseases 
of  women  and  children.  The  application  for  the  degree  must  be 
made  four  weeks  before  the  close  of  the  session,  and  must  be  ac- 
companied with  the  graduation  fee,  and  a  thesis  on  some  medical 
subject. 

Dr.  Bowlsby's  requirements,  from  a  perfect  stranger, 
coming  without  a  letter  of  introduction,  are  nothing 
more  or  less  than  the  payment  of  one  hundred  dollars. 
The  readiness  with  which  he  transacts  business  is 
charming  and  reminds  one  of  the  old  Scotch  song, 
"  Only  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad."     An  un- 


92  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

qualified  person  Las  only  to  whistle  to  Bowlsby  to  the 
tune  of  one  hundred  dollars,  and  out  comes  the  diploma. 

According  to  his  arrangement  with  Dr.  Bowlsby,  the 
young  student  called  the  following  evening  (Wednes- 
day), and  proposed  to  Dr.  Bowlsby  that  half  the  money 
should  be  paid  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  the  di- 
ploma be  forthcoming  at  the  same  time.  Dr.  Bowlsby 
quickly  objected  to  the  proposal. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  all  we  professors  have  a  share 
in  the  one  hundred  dollars,  and  it  would  not  be  well 
for  me  to  write  for  the  diploma  without  sending  some 
money.  They  might  not  be  inclined  to  sign  the  diplo- 
ma without  seeing  their  way  to  the  money ;  and,  be- 
sides, questions  might  then  be  asked  which  it  xoould,  pos- 
sibly, be  disagreeable  for  you  to  answer? 

The  student  replied  that  he  could  not  raise  all  the 
money  at  once,  as  he  had  to  depend  on  some  collections 
from  patients. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  "  if  you  bring  me  fifty 
dollars,  I  will  send  on  for  the  diploma.  You  can  pay 
the  rest  when  I  receive  it.  That  will  save  you  some 
days'  waiting,  as  you  are  so  anxious  to  get  the  diploma 
at  once." 

To  this  arrangement  the  student  acceded,  and  took 
his  leave. 

Being  desirous  of  finding  out  to  what  extent  Dr. 
Bowlsby  and  his  college  could  be  bargained  with,  I 
wrote  the  following  letter  and  received,  by  return  of 
post,  the  annexed  reply  : 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  93 

, Street,  October  2,  1871. 

My  dear  Sir  :  I  am  sorry  I  was  unable  to  call  upon  you  last 
night  with  the  money  for  my  diploma.  Some  patients,  from  whom 
I  had  bills  to  collect,  disappointed  me  at  the  last  moment.  How 
soon  I  shall  get  their  money  I  do  not  know.  Would  it  not  be  pos- 
sible to  let  me  have  the  diploma  for  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  ? 
I  see  by  the  college  prospectus,  on  which  your  letter  is  written, 
that  thirty  dollars  is  the  ordinary  fee.  I  can  raise  fifty  dollars  at 
once.  Now,  I  am  anxious  to  have  the  diploma.  If  you  will  get  it 
for  me  for  that  amount  I  will  bring  it  to  your  house  any  night  you 
may  name.     I  trust  you  will  favorably  consider  this  proposal. 

I  am,  yours  respectfully,  James  Brown. 

To  Dr.  Bowlsby,  203  Myrtle  Avenue,  Brooklyn. 

No.  263  Myrtle  Avenue,  October  2,  1871. 
Dear  Sir  :  You  will  see  that  the  fees  are,  for  one  course,  sev- 
enty-five dollars,  and  two  courses  are  requisite  for  graduation.     I 
have  no  authority  to  make  any  change.     I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you. 
If  you  are  down  to-morrow  evening  (Tuesday),  I  will  be  at  home. 
Yours  truly,  W.  H.  Bowlsby,  M.  D. 

To  Dr.  James  Browx. 

P.  S. — If  I  can  get  any  thing  off  for  you  I  will. 

The  following  letters  also  passed  between  ine  and 
Dr.  Bowlsby : 

, Street,  October  5,  1871. 

Dear  Sir  :  I  was  much  pleased  on  reading  the  postscript  of 
your  letter  of  Tuesday.  The  fact  is,  I  am  very  poor  just  now,  and  I 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  have  a  reduction  made  in  the  price  of  the 
diploma.  If  }tou  will  let  me  know  definitely  the  very  lowest  sum 
for  which  I  can  obtain  it,  I  will  at  once  use  every  effort  to  get  the 
money.  I  am  most  anxious  to  have  the  matter  settled  as  quickly  as 
possible.  I  am,  yours  respectfully, 

James  Brown. 

To  Professor  Bowlsby. 

No.  263  Myrtle  Avenue,   October  6,  1871. 
Dear  Sir  :  If  you  wish  to  see  me,  I  am  at  home  in  the  evening. 
Call,  say,  Saturday  or  Sunday.     In  haste,  very  truly,  B. 


94  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

This  was  about  as  near  to  the  toe-line  as  I  felt  I 
could  bring  the  learned  professor.  I  had  angled  my 
fish  as  long  as  I  cared  to  do  so,  and  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  pay  fifty,  or  even  five  dollars,  for  landing  him  on  the 
bank.  I  preferred  to  let  him  run  away  with  the  hook 
in  his  mouth,  hoping  that  it  would  rankle  there  for 
many  a  year  to  come. 

Still,  there  are  some  facts  in  connection  with  Dr. 
Bowlsby  which  are  worth  recording,  bearing,  as  they 
do,  on  his  conuection  with  the  infamous  Jacob  Rosen- 
zweig,  with  whom  he  had  an  arrangement  for  what 
doctors  call — exchanging  patients.  Certainly,  the  iden- 
tity of  his  name  with  that  of  Rosenzweig's  last  un- 
fortunate patient  is  a  singular,  if  not  significant,  coin- 
cidence. 

There  is,  or  was,  in  Brooklyn,  according  to  an  offi- 
cial advertisement  in  a  back  number,  now  before  me, 
of  the  Eclectic  Medical  Journal  of  Pennsylvania — the 
journal  of  the  college  that  was  to  have  granted  me  my 
bogus  diploma — an  institution  known  as  the  Brooklyn 
Eclectic  Dispensary.  Of  the  eighteen  professors  whose 
talents  redound  to  the  honor  of  the  Eclectic  Medical 
College  of  Philadelphia— the  college  aforesaid — the 
names  of  five — Matthew  Hale  Smith,  W.  H.  Bowlsby, 
I.  Buchanan,  J.  Isaacs,  and  Joseph  Sites  (Dean  of  Facul- 
ty)— appear  in  connection  with  this  Brooklyn  Dispen- 
sary. Dr.  Bowlsby  is  put  down  as  "  Rouse  Surgeon 
and  Medical  Superintendent,"  and,  under  the  head  of 
"  General  Practice,"  appears  the  name  of  I.  Rosenzweig. 


THE   BOGUS  DOCTOR.  95 

Truly,  I  think  I  did  well  in  not  purchasing  a  diplo- 
ma from  that  Philadelphia  college. 

But,  "  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  whisper  it  not  in  the 
streets  of  Askelon ! "  but  only  read  the  following  ex- 
tracts from  the  "  Transactions  of  the  Eclectic  Medical 
Society  of  the  State  of  New  York,1'  at  their  annual 
convention  of  1869.  Eead,  mark,  learn,  and  inwardly 
digest  them : 

A  communication  was  then  read  from  Dr.  I.  H.  Fitch,  in  which 
certain  charges  of  improper  and  unprofessional  conduct  were  made 
against  Dr.  W.  H.  Bowlsby,  of  Brooklyn,  in  regard  to  his  opera- 
tions with  the  Eclectic  Dispensary  there. 

Professor  A.  F.  Parsons,  chairman  of  the  committee  appointed 
for  this  purpose,  reported  in  case  of  charges  against  Dr.  Wm.  H. 
Bowlsby,  that  those  charges  had  been  fully  sustained  in  each  of 
the  specifications.     Signed  by  the  members  of  the  committee. 

Professor  R.  S.  Newton  moved  his  expulsion.  The  roll  was 
called,  and  the  motion  carried  by  the  required  vote  of  four-fifths  of 
the  members  present. 

And  this  was  the  Professor  W.  H.  Bowlsby  who 
was  going  to  stand  godfather  for  me  at  my  baptism  into 
the  medical  profession  !  Well,  I  should  have  been  a 
"  Bogus  Doctor  "  with  a  vengeance  ! 

Again,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Eclectic  Medical  Society 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  held  in  Albany,  the  2Gth 
January,  1871,  the  following  resolution,  concerning  the 
college  in  Philadelphia,  of  which  Dr.  Bowlsby  and 
Dr.  Buchanan  are  such  eminent  professors  and  shining 
lights,  was  passed : 

Whereas,     Certain    unfavorable    reports    have    been    brought 


96  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

against  the  Faculty  of  the  Eclectic  Medical  College  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, S.  S. :  that  they  have  issued  diplomas  to  persons  who  have 
not,  in  any  sense,  complied  with  the  legitimate  requirements  neces- 
sary to  graduate  ;  therefore — 

Resolved,  That  a  committee  of  live  be  appointed  to  investigate 
these  reports,  and  report  on  the  same  to  the  next  annual  meeting, 
to  be  held  at  Albany  in  January  next. 

As  this  was  the  college  from  the  Faculty  of  which 
I  had  petitioned  for  a  diploma,  I  determined  to  take  a 
trip  to  Philadelphia,  in  order  to  learn  all  about  it  and 
see  what  manner  of  man  my  friend  Professor  Buchanan 
is.  I  gathered  the  following  information  while  on  this 
reconnoitring  expedition : 

The  Eclectic  Medical  College  of  Philadelphia  occu- 
pies the  very  moderate-sized  house,  of  about  thirty  feet 
frontage,  and  consisting  of  three  stories  and  a  basement, 
No.  514  Pine  Street.  The  first  floor  contains  three  or 
four  offices,  with  a  scanty  supply  of  old  furniture  and 
an  accumulation  of  dust  that  would  give  a  fortnight's 
work  to  a  New-England  housewife,  and  entail  serious 
wear  and  tear  on  her  stock  of  patience  and  good-hu- 
mor. In  the  rear  of  these  offices  is  a  small  anatomical 
museum,  comprising  a  marvelous  collection  of  bottled 
babies  (all  of  them  wearing  an  agonized  and  savage  ex- 
pression of  countenance),  several  life-like  figures,  in- 
cluding Eve,  Venus,  and  Mars  (in  "  goome  elastic,"  as 
the  curator,  a  young  man  of  the  Bob  Sawyer  type,  ex- 
plained), a  few  grim  and  ghastly  skeletons  in  glass 
cases,  and  a  considerable  array  of  wax  models  of  that 
nauseating   description  which   certain   Broadway  mu- 


THE  BOGUS  DOCTOR.  97 

seums  find  a  profit  in  exhibiting  for  the  entertainment 
of  morbid  minds.  In  one  of  the  dingy,  dirty  rooms  on 
this  floor  Dr.  Buchanan  has  his  oflice.  He  is  a  slipshod, 
greasy-faced  man,  short  and  broad-shouldered,  with  an 
uneasy,  restless  eye,  and  bears  a  close  resemblance  to 
an  Avenue  B  butcher  in  his  Sunday  clothes.  Professor 
Buchanan  evidently  thinks  slovenliness  an  outward  and 
visible  sign  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace.  He  ap- 
parently regards  the  wearing  of  a  necktie  as  a  piece  of 
reckless  extravagance,  and  scornfully  disdains  the  use 
of  a  finger-brush  as  too  commonplace  an  agent  of  clean- 
liness for  a  man  of  his  his;h  intellectual  attainments. 
Professor  Buchanan,  however,  gets  through  much  work 
in  the  course  of  the  four- and- twenty  hours.  He  attends 
to  the  correspondence,  negotiates  the  sale  of  diplomas 
to  unqualified  persons,  gives  away,  when  he  cannot 
otherwise  dispose  of,  the  surplus  copies  of  The  College 
Journal,  does  some  professional  consultation  in  the 
basement,  a  little  lecturing  on  "  uroscopy,"  and  trans- 
acts any  general  business  that  may  turn  up. 

But  such  a  luscious  pie  as  this  cannot  be  concocted 
from  one  blackbird ;  and,  although  its  greasy  crust 
does  not  cover  the  regulation  "  twenty-four,"  there  are 
quite  enough  for  ample  flavor.  The  whole  labor  and 
profits  of  the  college  are  not  thrown  on  the  shoulders 
and  into  the  pockets  of  Professor  Buchanan.  The  official 
prospectus  of  the  college  informs  the  would-be  student  of 
medicine  that  he  is  assisted  by  seven  regular  and  eight 
auxiliary  professors.     Speaking  of  the  college  it  says  : 


98  THE  AMATEUK  VAGABOND. 

The  following  embrace  its  distinguished  faculty : 

Regular  Faculty.  Auxiliary  Faculty. 

Prof.  Joseph  Sites,  M.  D.  Prof.  J.  Isaacs,  M.  D. 

Prof.  Hy.  Hollembaek,  M.  D.  Prof.  N.  Bedortha,  M.  D. 

Prof.  John  Buchanan,  M.  D.  Prof.  Geo.  H.  Hutchins,  M.  D. 

Prof.  William  Clark,  ML  D.  Prof.  Mat.  H.  Smith,  LL.  D. 

Prof.  E.  Down,  M.  D.  Prof.  Wm.  H.  Bowlsby,  M.  D. 

Prof.  J.  D.  Hylton,  M.  D.  Prof.  James  Hill,  M.  D. 

Prof.  H.  C.  Stickney,  M.  D.  Prof.  R.  H.  De  Beust,  M.  D. 

Prof.  A.  P.  Bissell,  M.  D.  Prof.  R.  McLellan,  M.  D. 

These  gentlemen  are,  according  to  the  prospectus, 
"  men  eminent  in  the  profession,  earnest,  harmonious, 
energetic  in  imparting  a  course  of  medical  instruction  ; 
unsurpassed  in  practical  utility."  One  of  them,  Pro- 
fessor William  H.  Bowlsby,  is  so  self-sacrificing  in  the 
interests  of  medical  science  as  to  keep  a  third-class 
drug-store  on  Myrtle  Avenue,  Brooklyn,  and  to  ex- 
change patients  with  the  abortionist  Rosenzweig. 

On  the  upper  floors  there  are  two  lecture-rooms,  a 
workshop  for  students  in  dentistry  (Professor  Buchan- 
an says,  "  Those  country  doctors  always  want  to  know 
how  to  make  a  set  of  teeth  "),  a  small  dissecting-room, 
and  a  few  bedrooms.  The  same  official  prospectus 
announces  that  "  the  location  of  the  college  is  unsur- 
passed ;  the  building  is  commodious,  capable  of  ac- 
commodating three  hundred  students ; "  and  another 
clause  gives  the  price  of  "board  at  four  dollars  and 
fifty  cents  per  week."  Professor  Buchanan  is  more 
modest.  He  says  they  can  accommodate  thirty  or 
forty  students,  but  that,  having  found  it  disadvanta- 
geous  to   the   students   themselves   to   have  them  all 


TIIE   BOGUS  DOCTOR.  99 

collected  together,  they  have  adopted  the  practice  of 
boarding  them  in  the  neighborhood  in  parties  of  five 
or  six.  However,  as  the  doctor  admits  that  the  num- 
ber of  students  at  present  in  the  college  is  slightly 
under  one  hundred,  the  accommodation  for  the  three 
hundred  that  the  prospectus  talks  about  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  immediate  importance. 

There  are,  doubtless,  some  students  and  professors 
attached   to  the  college,  though   when   I  visited   the 
place,  at  about  11^  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they  were 
not  to  be  seen.     I  saw  Professor  Buchanan,  the  curator 
of  the  museum,  the  wax  models,  the  skeletons,  the  bot 
tied  babies,  and  the  dust,  but  in  no  part  of  the  build 
ing  was  my  search  for  a  student,  or  one  of  Dr.  Buchan 
an's  fellow-professors,  rewarded.     The  place  was  as  life 
less  as  Goldsmith's  deserted  village.     Had  I  only  pre 
viously   advised   Dr.    Buchanan   of   my   coming,    that 
astute  professor  would,  doubtless,  have  improvised  a 
large  class  of  students  and  a  full  staff  of  professors  for 
the  occasion.     As  it  was,  however,  having  paid  my  re- 
spects to  the  college  with  the  avowed  object  of  placing 
a  young  man  there  as  a  student,  I  left  its  sacred  pre- 
cincts with  the  strong  conviction  that  the  Eclectic  Med- 
ical College  of  Philadelphia  is  not  a  desirable  place  for 
study  or  for  graduation.1  "  A.  P." 

1  Since  the  above  was  written,  the  Legislature  of  Pennsylvania  has 
withdrawn  the  charter  of  the  college. 


THE  AMATEUR  CURB-STONE  SINGER. 

Ceeak  crack,  creak  crack,  went  every  stair  I  stepped 
on,  as  I  stumbled  up  what  did  duty  for  a  staircase,  but 
would  have  made  firewood  at  which  a  first-class  washer- 
woman would  have  turned  her  nose  up,  in  a  splen- 
did specimen  of  the  Five-Points  tenement-house  of  the 
period. 

"  Confound  the  rickety  old  place  !  "  I  muttered  as  I 
stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of  the  third  flight ; 
"  if  I  don't  mind,  I  shall  take  a  trip  to  the  ground-floor 
like  Puck — '  swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow ' 
— and  without  requiring  the  assistance  of  a  patent  hy- 
draulic elevator." 

I  peered  through  a  dingy,  dirty  pane  of  glass  by 
my  side,  almost  the  only  one  in  the  window  which  was 
not  covered  and  pasted  over  with  brown  paper,  and, 
through  the  cobwebs,  had  a  fine  though  somewhat 
mixed-up  view  of  tumble-down  chimneys,  gable-ends, 
and  clothes,  of  all  cuts  and  colors,  flapping  about  with 
the  eddying  currents  of  air.  This  was  consolatory,  for 
I  knew  I  must  be  near  my  destination — the  "  top-floor, 
back."     I  screwed  up  my  courage,  went  at  the  staircase 


THE    CURBSTONE     SINGERS.      I 
(From  photograph  of  group  by  Gurncy.) 


THE  AMATEUR   CURBSTONE   SINGER.  101 

a^ain,  and  rapped  with  my  knuckles  on  Mrs.  Jones's 
door. 

A  dirty,  slovenly,  unkempt  woman,  without  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  with  her  hair  streaming  about  her, 
answered  the  summons. 

u  Are  you  Mrs.  Jones  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  I  be,"  replied  the  woman,  so  snappishly,  that 
I  shrank  back.  And  then  she  added,  still  more  snap- 
pishly, "  what  dye  want  ?  " 

I  mentioned  the  name  of  the  person  who  had  given 
me  her  address,  by  way  of  introduction,  and  she  seemed 
greatly  mollified. 

"  Oh  !  if  it's  him  as  yer  come  from,  yer  can  come 
in,"  she  said. 

I  entered,  and  she  handed  me  an  old  wooden  chair, 
which  so  far  defied  the  laws  of  Nature  that,  though  it 
had  lost  its  back,  it  was  tolerably  firm  on  its  legs.  I 
took  in  the  place,  the  condition  of  the  family,  and  the 
situation,  at  a  glance.  If  ever  I  was  in  the  abode  of 
degradation,  wretchedness,  and  misery,  I  was  then. 
But  it  was  no  worse  than  I  had  been  led  to  expect.  A 
rickety  deal-table,  two  other  chairs,  a  dilapidated  chest 
of  drawers,  on  which  a  few  old  rags  were  drying,  a 
small  cooking-stove,  and  a  tumble-down  bedstead,  com- 
prised the  stock  of  Mrs.  Jones's  furniture.  On  the 
mantel-piece  were  ranged  several  dirty  medicine-bottles, 
a  wine-glass  without  a  stem,  and  two  broken  china  or- 
naments. Three  or  four  cracked  plates  of  different 
patterns,  some  cups  and  saucers,  and  two  tin  saucepans, 


102  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

stood  on  a  shelf.  On  the  table  was  a  sarsaparilla-bot- 
tle  with  a  little  gm  in  it.  The  odors  which  rushed 
from  Mrs.  Jones's  lips  told  me  that  it  was  gin.  In  fact, 
I  regret  to  say  that  that  unworthy  example  of  the 
American  mother  was  in  the  primary  stage  of  intoxica- 
tion. 

I  was  about  to  open  the  business  I  had  in  hand, 
when  a  rattling  cough,  coming  from  under  the  heap  of 
filthy  bed-coverings,  startled  me. 

"  Some  one  ill  ?  "  I  remarked,  interrogatively. 

"  My  man,"  replied  the  woman,  again  taking  a  snap- 
pish turn ;  and,  without  lowering  her  voice  and  with 
the  utmost  indifference,  she  added,  "  he's  drunk  hisself 
to  death.  An'  now  he's  got  the  lung-disease,  an'  the 
doctor  says  he  won't  live  above  a  week  or  ten  days." 

I  was  horrified  at  the  woman's  coarse  brutality,  but 
what  could  I  say  or  do  ?  To  remonstrate  with  her  for 
her  heartlessness,  or  to  attempt  to  lead  her  to  take 
warning  from  her  husband's  sad  fate,  I  felt  would  «be 
worse  than  useless.  It  is  as  idle  to  try  to  argue  with  a 
drunken  as  with  an  angry  woman.  You  must  wait  un- 
til she  is  thoroughly  sober  and  within  reach,  so  to 
speak ;  so  I  rushed  at  once  into  the  business  which  had 
led  me  to  seek  her  out. 

"  Don't  you  sometimes  go  out  singing  in  the  streets  ? " 
I  inquired. 

"  Well,  if  I  do,  that  ain't  no  business  o'  yourn,"  re- 
plied the  woman,  insolently. 

I  assured  her  that  I  had  not  asked  the  question 


THE  AMATEUR  CURB-STONE  SINGER.  103 

from  motives  of  impertinent  curiosity,  and  hinted  that 
I  might  be  able  to  put  a  dollar  or  two  in  her  pocket, 
if  she  would  be  civil  and  listen  to  what  I  had  to  say. 
The  woman's  eyes  sparkled,  as  nearly  as  the  liquor  she 
had  already  taken  would  permit,  at  what,  to  her,  was 
nothing  more  or  less  than  a  prospect  of  more  gin,  and 
she  at  once  requested  me  to  "  speak  up." 

Thus  encouraged,  I  said  : 

"  You  have  two  children,  I  hear  ? " 

"  Yes,  gals,"  she  replied. 

I  asked  her  if  she  took  them  with  her  when  she 
went  out  singing. 

"  Why,  what  d'ye  take  me  for  ?  The  gals  is  what 
does  it.  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  without  the  gals,"  she 
replied. 

As  she  uttered  this  piece  of  wTorldly  wisdom,  Mrs. 
Jones  favored  me  with  a  horrible  leer,  which  was  in- 
tended to  be  very  knowing,  but  which  utterly  disgusted 
me.  However,  I  rallied,  and  at  once  informed  her  that 
I  desired  the  company  of  the  girls  that  evening,  and  that, 
if  she  chose  to  look  at  the  matter  in  the  li^ht  of  a  bar- 
gain,  I  was  perfectly  willing  to  pay  for  the  hire  of  them. 

In  an  instant  I  saw  that  a  fearful  storm  was  brewing ; 
though  I  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  its  cause. 

"  God  damn  yer  !  no  ! "  cried  the  woman,  scowling 
fearfully  at  me.  "  Yer  want  to  get  'em  away,  do  yer  ? 
Send  'em  to  some  refuge  or  'formatory  !  No,  yer  don't. 
Them  beggarly  misshernaries  has  tried  that  game  afore 
yer." 


104  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

I  had  some  trouble  in  appeasing  her,  for,  in  her 
anger,  her  tongue  rattled  on  at  such  a  pace  that  I  could 
not  even  get  in  a  word  edgeways.  She  was  evidently  as 
'  famous  for  a  scolding  tongue '  as  Baptista's  daughter 
Katharina  in  the  "  Taming  of  the  Shrew  ; "  and  I  wisely 
held  my  tongue  and  let  her  have  her  say  out,  hoping 
to  bring  her  to  terms  by  far  more  gentle  means  than 
those  adopted  by  Petruchio,  and  in  far  less  time.  I 
simply  waited  till  her  whisky-sodden  throat  gave  out, 
and  then  I  played  her  with  her  own  great  foible.  I 
was  right. 

At  last  her  breath  was  gone,  and,  seizing  my  oppor- 
tunity, I  said : 

"  Listen  to  me  a  minute ;  let  me  explain  why,  and 
for  what  purpose,  I  want  them." 

I  then  quietly  unfolded  to  her  my  whole  plan,  and 
then,  producing  a  dollar-bill  for  her  to  feed  her  greedy 
gaze  upon,  I  said  that  I  was  willing  to  pay  fifty  cents 
apiece  for  the  hire  of  the  girls  from  eight  o'clock  till 
twelve  o'clock  the  same  night.  The  sight  of  the  money 
acted  like  a  charm  ;  but  she  said  it  wasn't  enough,  and 
that  I  must  deposit  five  dollars  with  her  as  security  for 
the  due  return  of  the  children.  I  increased  my  bid  to 
a  dollar  and  a  half,  but  absolutely  refused  to  make  the 
deposit.     I  knew  I  should  never  see  it  again. 

At  that  moment,  "  Take  it  Mag,  take  it — you  can 
buy  some  tea  for  me,"  came  in  wheezy  tones  from  under 
the  bedclothes. 

"Now,  then,  what  are  you  a-cussin'  an'  swearin' 


THE   AMATEUR   CURB-STONE   SINGER.  105 

about  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jones  to  her  better  half 
"  Mind  yer  own  business  ! " 

The  poor  wretch's  only  reply  was  a  groan. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Jones,"  I  put  in,  "  business  or  no  busi- 
ness ? " 

"  Oh,  put  up  the  money  ! "  she  replied,  testily. 

u  Half  down,  and  half  when  the  children  come  home," 
I  said,  at  the  same  time  laying  down  seventy-five  cents. 

The  woman  clutched  the  money,  and  had  just  placed 
it  on  the  mantel-piece,  when  the  door  opened  and  the 
"  gals  "  came  in.  They  had  been  out  begging,  and  had 
come  home  to  dinner.  They  looked  half  starved,  and 
had  even  less  clothing  on  than  their  mother.  I  asked 
them  how  old  they  were.  The  elder  was  thirteen  years 
old,  the  younger  one  only  eleven.  They  both  looked 
three  years  younger  at  least,  and  had  that  precocious, 
unnaturally  self-possessed,  impudent  look  about  them, 
so  characteristic  of  the  female  street  Arab.  They  had 
probably  never  known  a  real  mother's  care  from  the 
hour  of  their  birth. 

After  arranging  with  the  mother  that  they  should 
meet  me  at  the  corner  of  Forty-second  Street  and  Lex- 
ington Avenue  at  eight  o'clock,  I  gave  one  of  them  some 
money  with  which  to  go  out  and  buy  some  tea  and 
crackers  for  her  father,  saw  her  start,  waited  just  long 
enough  to  prevent  her  mother  going  after  her  and  cap- 
turing the  money,  and  then  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Jones, 
in  the  earnest  hope  that  I  might  never  see  that  worthy's 
face  again. 


106  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

London  play-goers  of  some  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago 
were  almost  startled  out  of  their  propriety  by  the  ex- 
traordinary hit  which  the  late  Mr.  Robson  made  at  the 
Olympic  Theatre  as  Jem  Bags,  in  the  "  Wandering  Min- 
strel." Without  aspiring  to  the  high  range  of  Mr.  Rob- 
son's  popularity  and  success,  I  had  determined  to  do  a 
little  private  business  of  somewhat  the  same  character 
on  my  own  account  and  for  my  own  amusement,  though 
solely  in  the  vocal,  instead  of  the  combined  vocal  and 
instrumental  line.  The  "Wandering  Minstrel"  also 
had  a  cracked  clarionet,  if  I  remember  rightly.  On 
reaching  home,  after  my  visit  to  Mrs.  Jones,  I  set 
to  work  to  study  my  part,  recalled  all  the  old  and 
touching  ballads  I  could  think  of,  and  made  a  list  of 
them.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  remembrance  of  Mr.  Rob- 
son's  custom  of  reading  out  the  titles  of  all  the  ballads 
on  his  "  'apenny  "  song-sheet  when  he  shuffled  on  to  the 
stage,  which  led  me  to  do  this.  As  nearly  as  I  can 
recollect,  his  list  was  as  follows : 

"  If  I  had  a  Donkey  What  Wouldn't  Go"— 

"  Over  the  'Ills  an'  Far  Away"— 

"  I'm  Off  to  Charlestown  "— 

"  Good-By,  Sweet'eart,  Good-By"— 

"Mary  Blaine"— 

"  O,  Tell  Me  that  You're  True  to  Me"— 

"I'd  be  a  Butterfly"— 

"  Red,  White,  and  Blue'1— 

"  The  Fisherman's  Chorus  " — 

"  I'm  Afloat,  I'm  Afloat"— 


THE  AMATEUR   CURB-STONE   SINGER.  107 

"  The  Flowers  are  Blooming  " — 

"  Come  into  the  Garden,  Maud" — 

"  I  Should  Like  to  Marry  "— 

"  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me"— 

"  When  in  Death  I  Shall  Calm  Recline"— 

"  Kiss  Me  Quick  and  Go  "— 

"  Upon  the  Sands  at  Margate  " — 

"  I  Love  to  Roam  by  the  Dark  Sea  Foam  " — 

" Love  Not"— 

u  Drops  o'  Brandy  " — 

u  O,  Say  not  Woman's  Love  is  Bought " — 

Mr.  Robson  always  gave  these  titles  in  couplets 
and,  after  the  last  one,  without  a  moment's  pause 
or  change  of  voice,  he  added  the  usual  song- vender's 
finale  of 

"  All  for  the  small  charge  of  one  'apenny." 

I,  however,  determined  to  go  more  into  the  touching 
business,  and  raked  up 

"  She  Wore  a  Wreath  of  Roses  " — 

"  Maid  of  Athens,  Ere  We  Part  "— 

"  Kathleen  Mavourneen  " — 

"  Once  I  Loved  a  Maiden  Fair  " — 

"  Happy  Land  " — 

"  Isle  of  Beauty,  Fare  Thee  Well  "— 

"  I'll  Hang  my  Harp  on  a  Willow-Tree  "— 

"  Believe  Me  if  All  Those  Endearing  Young 
Charms  " — 

"  My  Heart,  My  Heart  is  Breaking  " — 
.     "  The  Dream  is  Past,  and  With  It  Fled  "— 


108  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

and  other  time-honored  favorites  of  the  professional 
curb-stone  singer. 

But  I  had  reckoned  without  my  host.  When  I  came 
to  inquire,  I  found  that  "  my  little  fam'ly  "  knew  nothing 
of  these  musical  mines  of  wealth,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
let  them  go  through  their  own  regular  programme,  taking 
the  chance  of  joining  in  when  I  could. 

I  was  at  our  trysting-place  at  the  appointed  hour, 
and  there  stood  my  temporary  investment  of  rags  and 
tatters  shivering  in  the  biting  wind.  They  were  bare- 
footed, and  had  only  an  old  and  very  thin  shawl  each 
to  cover  their  heads  and  shoulders.  They  did  not  know 
me  at  first.  And  no  wonder  !  I  was  elaborately  got  up 
for  the  occasion  in  true  curb-stone  singer  costume,  and 
had  an  old  woolen  comforter  wound  two  or  three  times 
round  my  neck,  covering  the  lower  part  of  my  face. 

u  Oh,  that's  you,  is  it  ? "  said  the  elder  girl,  as  I  took 
hold  of  her  arm  ;  "  ain't  you  late  ? " 

I  told  her  that  it  was  just  eight  o'clock,  and  inquired 
their  respective  names. 

"  Me's  Mag,  an'  she's  Lottie,"  she  replied.  And  then 
she  added  sharply,  "  Say,  old  'un,  ain't  you  going  to 
stand  us  no  supper  afore  we  start  ?  It's  damned  cold, 
an'  we're  hungry  as  the  devil." 

I  stared  in  astonishment  at  this  prematurely  old  child. 
That  they  would  be  hungry  was  a  certainty.  They  had 
probably  never  eaten  a  hearty  meal  in  their  lives,  and  I 
had  intended  to  give  them  one  before  parting  with  them. 
But  the  girl's  assurance  startled  me,  and  her  language, 


THE   AMATEUR   CUIIB-STONE   SINGER  109 

though  it  did  not  surprise,  distressed  me.  I  was  also  a 
little  taken  aback  at  being  so  coolly  addressed  as  "  old 
'un."  However,  telling  them  to  wait  where  they  were, 
I  hurried  down  to  Third  Avenue,  and  bought  some  cold 
meat  and  bread  for  them  at  an  eating-saloon.  On  my 
return,  they  seated  themselves  on  a  door-step,  and  the 
bread  and  meat  disappeared  with  marvelous  rapidity. 
"When  they  had  finished,  Mag  horrified  me  by  demanding 
"  a  drop  of  something  to  warm  us." 

I  sternly  refused  to  do  any  thing  of  the  sort. 

"  Mother  allers  gives  us  something  on  a  night  like 
this,"  rejoined  the  girl,  "  and  I  ain't  a'goin'  to  sing  with- 
out it — are  you,  Lot  ? " 

Lot  signified  an  indignant  refusal. 

O  Odger,  Bradlaugh,  Beales,  Mundella,  and  others 
of  your  kidney !  why  did  you  ever  plant  your  hateful 
theory  of  strikes  in  the  human  brain  ?  Here  had  I  only 
been  an  employer  of  two  young  children  for  fifteen  min- 
utes, and  they  had  the  hardihood  to  strike  for  a  glass 
of  rum  apiece !  It  is  too  horrible  to  think  of.  Still  I 
I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  throw  up  my  enterprise,  and  I 
made  a  disgraceful  compromise  with  my  conscience  by 
insisting  that  they  should  only  have  one  drink  between 
them.  I  feel  uneasy  in  my  mind  now  as  I  recall  the  ap- 
palling gusto  with  which  they  smacked  their  lips  on 
leaving  the  gin-mill.  The  vile  stuff  did  not  even  bring 
the  water  into  their  eyes. 

In  order  to  drive  the  repulsive  scene  from  my 
thoughts,  I  hurried  them  along  Lexington  Avenue,  and 


110  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

we  were  soon  following  our  vocation  in  Thirty-ninth 
Street,  my  intention  being  to  beat  backward  and  for- 
ward in  the  streets  lying  between  Third  and  Sixth  Ave- 
nues, as  sportsmen  beat  up  and  down  the  woods  for 
game. 

Mag  opened  with  "  Put  Me  in  my  Little  Bed,"  in  a 
not  unmusical  voice  ;  Lottie  and  I  joining  in  the  chorus 
at  the  end  of  each  verse.  They  both  sang  out  to  their 
full  power  and  thoroughly  roused  the  echoes  in  the 
quiet  of  the  night. 

After  we  had  sung  several  verses,  my  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  a  sniffling  sob  by  my  side.  I  looked  down 
and  found  Lottie  crying. 

"  Hulloah  !  what's  the  matter,  little  woman  ?  "  I  ex- 
claimed aloud,  thoroughly  thrown  off  my  guard. 

The  only  answer  she  vouchsafed  to  my  sympathetic 
inquiry  was  a  hasty  sotto-voce  intimation  that  I  should 
"  cheese  it." 

In  an  instant  I  saw  my  error.  The  practised  eye  of 
this  accomplished  little  artiste  had  caught  the  sound  of 
the  latch  of  the  basement-door,  and  she  was  indulging 
in  a  little  by-play,  in  order  to  harrow  up  the  feelings 
of  any  one  who  might  come  out  to  the  regulation  elee- 
mosynary standard. 

A  colored  woman  was  our  first  victim.  Whether 
she  were  cook  or  chambermaid,  of  course  I  know  not ; 
but  her  sympathies  led  her  to  present  us  with  the  mu- 
nificent contribution  of  two  cents,  for  which  I  warmly 
thanked  her.     The  cold  air  quickly  drove  her  in-doors 


THE  AMATEUR   CURB-STONE   SINGER.  m 

again ;  and  Mag,  who  was  evidently  of  an  economical 
disposition,  ungratefully  marched  off  without  finishing 
her  song. 

As  we  marched  along,  Mag  remarked,  in  the  most 
business-like  of  tones  : 

"  Say,  old  'un,  I  guess  I'd  better  boss  the  talkin'. 
I'm  more  used  to  it  like." 

I  had  no  objection  to  offer  to  this  arrangement ;  and, 
as  we  neared  the  other  end  of  the  block,  Mag  pulled 
up  and  again  started  "  Put  Me  in  my  Little  Bed." 
There  were  lights  in  the  basement,  lights  in  the  parlor, 
and  in  the  floor  above ;  but,  beyond  some  one  turning 
the  parlor-shutters  for  a  moment  and  peering  out  at  us, 
we  sang  and  sang  in  vain.  So  we  edged  on  across  the 
avenue  and  crawled  toward  Madison  Avenue  at  a 
snail's  pace,  singing  as  we  went. 

The  appearance  of  some  ladies  and  gentlemen  from 
one  of  the  houses  at  once  gave  the  girls  a  violent  attack 
of  the  shivers — Mag  so  badly,  that  her  voice  shook ; 
and  Lottie,  that  she  sobbed  a^ain. 

"  What  a  shame  to  keep  children  out  begging  in  the 
streets  such  a  night  as  this  ! "  said  one  of  the  ladies, 
from  behind  her  seal-skin  muff.  "  For  Heaven's  sake, 
give  them  something,  Harry  !  The  more  they  get,  the 
sooner  they'll  go  home." 

Mr.  "  Harry  "  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  dropped  a  ten- 
cent  stamp  into  Mag's  trembling  hand. 

On  reaching  Broadway,  we  doubled  back  down 
Thirty-eighth  Street,  and,  as  soon  as  we  had  passed 


JL12  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

three  or  four  houses,  led  off  with  "  Down  in  a  Coal- 
Mine  "  with  great  spirit.  But  "  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine  " 
didn't  draw,  and  I  suggested  to  Mag  to  try  something 
of  a  more  sentimental  order.  She  then  broke  out  with 
"  Wearing  of  the  Green,"  and  with  more  success ;  for, 
before  she  had  finished,  a  nice,  kind-hearted-looking  old 
lady  emerged  from  the  basement,  with  a  light  shawl 
thrown  hastily  over  her  head. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  why  do  you  keep  your  chil- 
dren out  on  such  a  ni^ht  ?  "  she  asked  of  me. 

Mag  dashed  to  the  rescue. 

"  He  can't  help  it,  ma'am,"  she  said.  "  He's  got  his 
arm  broke  "  (my  right  arm  was  slung  to  my  neck  in  an 
old  red-silk  pocket-handkerchief),  "  an'  he  can't  work, 
ma'am." 

The  old  lady  retired  and  soon  reappeared  laden 
with  cold  beef  and  bread,  which  she  distributed  among 
us. 

"  Thank  you,  kind  lady — shall  we  sing  again  ?  "  in- 
quired Mag. 

"  No,  no,  go  home,"  replied  the  old  lady. 

"  Ah,  we've  got  nowheres  to  go  to,"  rejoined  Mag ; 
and  then  she  artfully  added,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  as  soon 
as  we've  got  the  price  of  a  night's  lodging,  we  shall 
quit.     It's  so  cold." 

But  the  fish  did  not  jump  at  the  bait,  and  we 
passed  on,  the  old  lady  bidding  us  good-night  as  we 
turned  away. 

"  Damn  the  old  woman  an'  her  stale  corned  beef !  " 


THE   AMATEUR   CURB-STONE   SINGER.  113 

ejaculated  Mag,  as  soon  as  we  were  out  of  hearing. 
u  Why  couldn't  she  give  us  a  nickel  \  " 

Oh,  the  worldly- Handedness  of  that  precocious  little 
female ! 

The  bread  and  meat  were  at  once  consigned  to  lim- 
bo  in  the  capacious  pockets  of  my  old  overcoat,  bor- 
rowed for  the  occasion  of  a  car-driver. 

On  we  wandered,  up  one  street  and  down  another, 
varying  our  repertoire  with  "  The  Harp  that  Once 
through  Tara's  [the  girls  pronounced  it  fearer's]  Halls," 
"  Dermott  Asthore,"  and  other  ballads ;  taking  every 
now  and  then  a  cent  or  two  from  the  passers-by,  who, 
however,  were  "like  angels'  visits  —  few  and  far  be- 
tween," and  an  occasional  five-cent  piece  from  some 
charitable  householder,  all  of  whom  seemed  to  feel 
great  sympathy  with  the  children  and  to  be  filled 
with  feelings  of  unutterable  scorn  and  indignation  for 
me. 

We,  however,  met  with  little  in  the  shape  of  inci- 
dent till  we  reached  Thirty-fifth  Street,  where  we  had 
stationed  ourselves  in  front  of  a  brilliantly-lighted 
house.  We  had  gone  through  two  of  our  most  stir- 
ring and  touching  songs,  and  had  just  begun  "  Tara's 
Halls"  again,  when  an  old  gentleman,  without  a  hat 
on,  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  steps.  The  girls  at 
once  threw  themselves  into  the  situation  and  sang  as 
loudly  and  plaintively  as  they  could,  I  following  suit. 
The  old  gentleman  was  a  small  terrier-like  looking  man, 
with   scrabby,  gray  side-whiskers   and   grizzled   hair, 


1U  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

brushed  after  the  fashion  which  history  ascribes  to 
Brutus.  His  pockets  were  most  capacious,  therefore 
probably  well  lined;  for,  when  he  dived  both  hands 
into  them,  his  arms  disappeared  as  far  as  the  elbow. 
There  he  stood,  watching  us  without  moving  a  muscle 
of  his  face,  raising  himself  up  and  down  on  his  toes, 
and,  as  I  fondly  thought,  beating  time  with  his  heels 
on  the  stone  steps  to  our  music.  The  girls  surpassed 
themselves  and  gave  the  last  verse  with  an  emphasis 
which  should  have  "  brought  down  the  house."  But, 
to  our  horror,  he  answered  Mag's  whining  appeal  for 
money  in  the  style  of  the  Friend  of  Humanity  to  the 
Needy  Knife-Grinder  in  the  Anti-Jacobin :  "  I  give 
thee  sixpence  ?     I  will  see  thee  hanged  first  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  and  kicking  up 
such  a  row  as  this,  and  disturbing  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood ? "  he  angrily  demanded  to  know,  looking  at  me 
as  though  he  would  eat  me  alive,  muffler  and  all. 
"  You  know  it's  against  the  law,  and  it's  a  great  out- 
rage to  keep  those  children  in  the  streets  at  night  with- 
out any  shoes  and  stockings  on,  in  order  that  you  may 
get  money  to  buy  rum  and  get  drunk.  If  I  could  see 
an  officer,  I'd  have  you  arrested." 

Mag  gave  a  tremendous  tug  at  the  skirt  of  my  over- 
coat (both  girls  held  a  corner  of  the  coat  when  we 
were  singing  or  begging),  and  we  hurried  off  in  search 
of  a  more  genial  venue  for  our  operations,  leaving  the 
irate  old  gentleman  to  continue  his  explosion  by  him 
self. 


THE  AMATEUR   CURB-STONE  SINGER.  115 

Once  more  on  Broadway,  and  in  the  open  space  at 
its  junction  with  Sixth  Avenue,  I  suggested  that  we 
should  try  to  collect  a  small  crowd  around  us  in  that 
thronged  locality. 

"  Yes,  and  get  took  in  by  the  cops,"  said  Mag,  in  a 
scornful  tone.  "  You're  a  fine  boss,  you  are,"  she  add- 
ed ;  "  why  can't  yer  leave  it  all  to  me  \  " 

Once  more  recognizing  the  fact  that  I  was  in  the 
company  of  a  first-class  artiste,  I  told  Mag  to  do  just 
what  she  thought  best — that  I  left  every  thing  to  her 
superior  judgment. 

"  That's  right,  old  'un,"  she  rejoined,  in  a  patronizing 
tone ;  "  now  we'll  just  work  down  to  the  Jaksin  Club. 
That's  allers  worth  somethin'.  Give  'em  Irish  songs,  an' 
they'll  put  up  directly.  They're  all  Irish  there,  an' 
there's  allers  some  on  'em  standin'  on  the  steps." 

So  we  made  for  the  Andrew  Jackson  Club,  the  great 
resort  of  the  members  of  the  O'Brien  party,  and,  as  was 
to  be  expected,  those  election-times,  four  or  five  men 
stood  talking  on  the  steps. 

We  at  once  gave  "  Tara's  Halls  "  and  "  Wearing  of 
the  Green,"  with  what  the  musical  critics  call  such  "  fire 
and  precision  "  that  two  of  the  men  gave  Mag  a  ten-cent 
stamp  each  and  a  third  gave  her  six  penny-pieces — a 
perfect  mine  of  wealth.  We  were  just  on  the  point  of 
beginning  a  third  song,  when  an  officer,  attracted  by  the 
singing,  came  round  the  corner  of  Thirtieth  Street. 

"  Cheese  it !  "  whispered  Mag  at  once,  and  we  slunk 
away,  the  officer  following  us  and  saying : 


116  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

"  You'd  better  quit  that,  or  I'll  lock  you  all  up." 

We  did  not  reply,  nor  did  we  wait  to  be  locked  up ; 
and,  after  following  us  for  half  a  block,  the  officer  turned 
on  his  heel  and  retraced  his  steps. 

On  reaching  the  Union  League  Club,  several  gen- 
tlemen were  standing  outside  the  door.  Being  a  very 
quiet  locality,  Mag  determined  to  go  for  them,  and,  after 
striking  our  very  best  mendicant  attitude,  Mag  plain- 
tively chanted  "  The  Baby  was  Sleeping,  the  Mother 
was  Weeping." 

"  Can't  you  sing  any  thing  more  lively  than  that  ? " 
asked  a  young  scion  of  the  aristocracy.  "  Sing  '  Moet 
and  Chandon,'  or  l  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine.'  " 

But  Mag's  watchful  eyes  had  caught  sight  of  a  ven- 
erable-looking individual  in  the  background,  whose 
kindly  eyes  were  beaming  charity  and  benevolence  at 
her. 

"  We  only  knows  religious  songs,  sir,"  said  Mag,  with 
well-assumed  humility  and  innocence,  replying  osten- 
sibly to  the  young  man,  but  looking  piteously  and  talk- 
ing at  the  benevolent-looking  old  gentleman  behind  him. 

"  Why,  you  sang  '  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine '  just  now," 
I  thoughtlessly  said  in  an  undertone. 

"  Cheese  it,  old  'un,  or  you'll  spile  all,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

What  a  judge  of  human  nature  was  that  child  ! 

The  old  gentleman  came  forward  with  his  right  hand 
in  his  pocket  and  asked  me  why  I  kept  the  children 
out  so  late. 


THE   AMATEUR   CURB-STOXE   SINGER.  117 

I  was  beginning  to  ask  myself  why  I  kept  myself 
out  so  late. 

Before  I  could  reply  to  tlie  old  gentleman,  Mag  put 
in,  "  Because  we  ain't  got  money  enough  to  pay  for  a 
night's  lodgin' ; "  at  the  same  time  timidly  holding  out 
her  grimy  little  hand  in  a  suggestive  way. 

The  old  gentleman  was  taken  by  storm.  He  drew 
his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  handed  me  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar,  on  the  promise,  freely  given  in  the  huskiest  of 
voices,  that  I  would  at  once  take  the  children  to  some 
lodging-house. 

"  Get  them  out  of  the  streets,  for  God's  sake,  on  such 
a  night  as  this  ! "  he  added,  speaking  very  earnestly. 

The  young  man,  for  whom  Mag  would  not  sing 
"  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine,"  supplemented  the  quarter  with 
a  ten-cent  stamp,  and  we  went  on  our  way  rejoicing. 

As  it  was  then  getting  late  and  I  was  already  in  a 
half-frozen  state,  in  spite  of  the  extra  warm  clothing  I 
had  put  on,  and  as  I  had  had,  too,  as  much  experience 
in  curb-stone  singing  as  I  wanted,  I  gave  the  children 
the  seventy-iive  cents  still  owing  to  their  mother  and 
all  the  money — ninety-eight  cents — we  had  collected 
during  our  wanderings,  and  bade  them  hurry  home. 
They  both  said  "  Good-night,  old  'un"  with  the  su- 
premest  indifference,  evidently  treating  the  whole  thing 
as  a  matter  of  business,  and  the  next  moment  they  were 
lost  in  the  darkness. 

As  I  sat  warming  myself  over  my  fire  and  sipping 
some  hot  brandy-and- water  on  my  return  home,  I  could 


118  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

not  help  laughing  over  Mag's  injunction,  "  Cheese  it,  old 
'un,  or  you'll  spile  all,"  when  she  was  so  diplomatically- 
playing  on  the  benevolence  of  the  old  gentleman  at  the 
Union  League  Club.  It  reminded  me  forcibly  of  the 
following  lines  from  Cruikshank's  "  Omnibus,"  written 
on  Charles  Young  as  Eolla  : 

"  That  child  would  Rolla  bear  to  Cora's  lap. 
Snatching  the  creature  by  her  tiny  gown, 
He  plants  her  on  his  shoulder. — All,  all  clap ! 
While  all  with  praise  the  Infant  Wonder  crown, 
She  lisps  in  his  ear — k  LooTc  out,  old  chap, 
Or  else  Fm  Mowed  if  you  don't  have  me  down  /'  " 

"A.  P." 


THE     AMATEUR     CANAL-BOATMAN. 
(Portrait  of  character  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL. 

I  shipped  at  Albany  as  an  extra  hand  on  the  Canal- 
boat  Admiral,  Captain  Lainoreaux,  bound  for  Buffalo 
with  a  cargo  of  stoves,  fire-bricks,  etc.,  under  the  strict 
promise  that  I  would  make  myself  useful  in  an  emergency, 
that  I  would  rough  it  with  the  rest  of  the  crew,  and 
would  "  put  on  no  city  airs."  Our  skipper  was  a  blight, 
cheery-faced,  intelligent  man,  lissome  and  powerful  as 
an  athlete,  the  color  of  a  mahogany  sideboard,  and  re- 
joicing in  an  awful  pair  of  boots.  His  partner,  Captain 
Spoor,  was  equally  active,  though  smaller  and  slighter, 
and,  if  possible,  more  bronzed  ;  equally  good-tempered, 
but  very  irascible,  very  dry  in  his  remarks,  and  very 
caustic  in  his  badinage  with  passing  boatmen.  The  first 
question  he  asked  me  was : 

"  What  are  you  made  on  ?  " 

I  did  not  at  first  perceive  the  drift  of  his  question, 
and  replied  that  I  supposed  I  was  like  most  other  men. 

"You  ain't  much  like  a  boatman  anyhow,"  he  re- 
joined ;  "  but  that  warn't  what  I  meaned.  Can  you 
rough  it  ? " 

I  told  him  that  I  could  at  a  pinch  sleep  under  a  hay- 


120  THE   AMATEUE  VAGABOND. 

stack  or  on  the  deck  of  a  vessel,  and  breakfast  off  hard- 
tack and  coffee.  He  looked  me  up  and  down  with  a 
critical  eye  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  remarked  sen- 
tentiously : 

"  Hands  pretty  white  and  soft-looking  for  boat- 
ing ;  but  I  guess  you  won't  spile  nothin'  aboard  'fore 
we  git  to  Buffalo.  Breakfast  at  six,  dinner  twelve, 
supper  six.     Where's  your  duds  ?  " 

I  told  him  my  valise  was  at  the  Delavan  House. 

"  Delavan  House  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  astonishment ; 
"  d — n  me  if  I  ever  shipped  a  hand  from  the  Delavan' 
House  afore ! " 

So  I  was  accepted  as  a  passenger-hand ;  and,  hav- 
ing transported  my  "  duds "  to  the  boat,  and  stowed 
them  away  in  my  quarters — one  of  four  bunks,  just  big 
enough  to  double  up  in,  in  the  caboose  or  forward 
cabin,  an  apartment  nine  feet  by  five,  and  six  feet  high 
— I  began  life  as  a  "  canawller." 

The  remainder  of  our  boat's  company  consisted  of  a 
line  young  fellow,  who  acted  as  steersman  every  alter- 
nate six  hours;  a  quiet,  middle-aged  woman  (a  widowed 
aunt  of  the  captain),  who  officiated  as  cook,  and  two 
team-drivers,  who  were  to  join  us  in  the  weigh-lock  basin. 
Captain  Lamoreaux  spoke  in  a  sort  of  apologetic  tone  of 
the  absence  of  his  wife. 

"  Both  our  women's  to  home,"  he  said  (a  boatman 
always  speaks  of  his  wife  as  "  my  woman  ") ;  u  but  the 
woman  aboard'll  look  after  you  if  you  want  looking 
after/' 


LIFE  ON  TIIE  ERIE   CANAL.  121 

"  Fust-rate  miss,"  sarcastically  put  in  Captain  Spoor. 

I  laughed,  and  told  the  captain  that,  beyond  having 
a  little  laundry-work  done  for  me,  I  did  not  think  I 
should  require  any  nursery  looking  after. 

I  found  that  the  "boat's  company  take  their  meals  in 
two  detachments,  as  they  tow  night  and  day,  only  stop- 
ping at  the  locks  or  to  change  horses.  The  steersman 
was  consequently  absent  when  we  sat  down  to  supper — 
my  first  meal  on  board.  I  inquired  his  name  of  Cap- 
tain Spoor. 

"  Name's  Sol,"  he  replied,  without  looking  at  me, 
and  stuffing  a  whole  slice  of  cold  pork  into  his  mouth. 

"  What  is  his  other  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  know  ;  never  heard  tell  as  he  had  one." 

"  But  surely  he  must  have  another  name,"  I  rejoined. 

"  One  name's  a  plenty,  ain't  it  ? " 

"  I  am  not  certain  of  that.  But,  at  all  events,  every 
one  has  two  names,"  I  argued. 

"  Now,  what  d'yer  want  a-botherin'  about  his  other 
name  for  ? "  remonstrated  the  captain,  with  a  slight 
tone  of  asperity.  "  Can't  you  call  him  Sol  ? "  It's  a  easy 
word  to  pronounce — S-o-1,  Sol." 

Further  discussion  concerning  the  name  of  the  steers- 
man was  precluded  by  our  arrival  at  the  lock  which 
admitted  us  from  the  Hudson  Eiver  into  the  weio-h-lock 
basin,  whither  we  had  been  towed  by  a  steam-tug.  Here 
Captain  Spoor,  whose  duty  it  was  to  superintend  the 
teams  and  teamsters,  met  with  a  terrible  trial.  His  two 
drivers  had  not  put  in  an  appearance,  and  there  was 


.122  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

nothing  for  it  but  to  lay  up  for  the  night.  To  say  that 
he  was  wrathful  to  a  degree,  would  give  no  adequate 
impression  of  his  state  of  mind.  He  literally  boiled 
with  rage ;  not  like  the  paltry  bubbling  and  spitting 
of  a  tea-kettle,  but  like  the  thudding:  boilinsr  of  the  wa- 
ter  in  a  locomotive. 

"  My  God  !  sir,  it  won't  bear  talkin'  on,"  was  all  the 
thanks  I  got  for  a  sympathetic  remark  or  two.  "  There'll 
be  any  number  in  the  sixteens  afore  us  by  mornin'." 

Between  West  Troy  and  the  aqueduct  at  Cohoes, 
a  distance  of  only  four  miles,  there  are  no  less  than 
sixteen  locks ;  to  the  canal-boating  mind  a  very  trying 
and  vexatious  beginning  to  a  trip,  especially  in  the 
spring,  when  there  is  generally  a  crowd  of  boats. 

Thinking  to  console  the  much-vexed  captain,  I  of- 
fered him  a  cisrar.  He  informed  me,  curtlv,  that  he 
didn't  smoke,  he  only  chewed ;  and  he  stared  at  me 
with  blank  astonishment  when  I  told  him  that  I  did 
not  chew.  This  also,  apparently,  did  not  "  bear  talkin' 
on ; "  for,  when  he  had  stared  at  me  long  enough  to  re- 
cover a  little  from  his  surprise,  he  turned  on  his  heel 
with  an  air  of  disgust,  and,  walking  to  the  other  end 
of  the  deck,  relieved  his  feelings  by  uncoiling  and  re- 
coiling the  bowline.  Captain  Lamoreaux,  who  seemed 
to  take  things  much  more  easily,  came  and  smoked  his 
pipe  by  my  side  as  I  sat  on  the  top  of  the  cabin,  and 
betrayed  more  interest  in  the  weather,  probabilities  for 
the  morrow — for  the  moon  was  rising,  after  a  lovely  day, 
with  a  very  ominous  haze  around  her — than  in  the  loss 


LIFE   ON   THE  ERIE   CANAL.  123 

of  twelve  hours.  At  half-past  nine,  just  as  I  had  begun 
to  feel  a  little  lonesome,  he  suggested  that,  as  I  had  to 
get  up  at  five  o'clock  the  next  morning,  I  should  turn 
in.  I  took  the  captain's  advice,  more  because  it  was 
getting  rather  chilly  than  for  the  reason  suggested  by 
him,  and  turned  in. 

I  was  perfectly  ready  to  get  up  next  morning,  for 
the  very  good  reason  that  I  had  been  totally  unable  to 
go  to  sleep  all  night.  The  confinement  of  that  little 
cabin  with  its  four  bunks  was  any  thing  but  conducive 
to  sleep  in  one  unaccustomed  to  it.  Boatmen  always 
sleep  in  their  clothes,  as  they  have  to  get  up  at  all  hours 
of  the  night  to  help  at  the  locks.  This,  of  course,  ren- 
ders the  keeping  of  the  hatchway  open  an  absolute 
necessity  in  order  to  prevent  suffocation,  while  a  very 
pretty  draught  eddies  playfully  down  on  the  sleepers 
below  as  soon  as  the  morning  hours  begin.  I  did  not 
feel  very  lively  as  I  turned  out,  and  my  canal-boating 
ardor  was  still  further  damped,  when  I  went  on  deck, 
to  find  a  drizzling  rain  falling. 

Captain  Spoor  was  on  deck.  He  had  already  been 
out  in  search  of  his  drivers,  and  had,  as  he  said, 
"  brought  'em  back  by  the  ear."  He  was,  consequent- 
ly, not  as  angry  at  the  rain  as  might  otherwise  have 
been  expected. 

"  Handle  a  bucket  ?  "  he  remarked,  interrogatively. 

I  replied  that  I  thought  I  could,  and  at  once  seized 
one  standing  by  on  the  deck.  I  dropped  it  into  the 
canal  and  succeeded,  more  by  good  luck  than  by  good 


124  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

management,  in  drawing  up  a  pail  fall  of  water  with 
the  air  of  a  practised  hand. 

"  Ever  done  that  afore  \  n  inquired  the  captain. 

I  replied  in  the  negative,  whereupon  the  captain 
seemed  pleased  and  surprised. 

"  I  want  to  know  ! "  he  said  ;  "  well,  go  ahead  and 
wash  yourself." 

From  that  moment  I  felt  that  Captain  Spoor  and  I 
were  friends.  No  one  else  did  any  thing  in  the  way  of 
washing  till  the  cook  called  out,  "  Breakfast  ready." 
Then,  for  five  or  six  minutes,  that  bucket  was  kept 
pretty  busy ;  as  also  was  one  towel  and  a  small  piece 
of  a  comb,  which  both  went  the  round. 

Breakfast  over,  the  teams  were  harnessed  and 
brought  out,  so  as  to  start  at  seven  o'clock — the  be- 
ginning of  the  boatman's  day ;  and,  as  there  is  a  tow- 
path  on  either  side  of  the  canal  as  far  as  Cohoes,  it  was 
resolved  to  hitch  on  both  teams  at  once,  in  order  to 
make  up  a  little  of  the  lost  time. 

There  seemed,  however,  to  be  a  fatality  about  our 
getting  fairly  under  way,  for,  immediately  after  start- 
ing from  the  weigh-lock,  *  an  accident  occurred,  which 
was  wellnigh  attended  with  serious  consequences.  We 
had  gone  about  a  hundred  yards,  and  Captain  Spoor 
had  just  replied  in  the  surliest  tones,  "  Yes,  if  yer  wants 
to  grow,"  to  the  "  Mornin',  cap — fine  growin'  mornin' 
this,"  of  a  corpulent  farmer  passing  over  the  canal- 
bridge  above  us  in  his  wagon  (a  wet  day  in  the  sixteen 
locks  is  a  public  calamity  among  boatmen),  when  one 


LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  125 

of  the  teams  became  uneasy  at  an  engine  standing  on 
the  Rensselaer  &  Saratoga  Railroad.  The  engineer 
or  fireman,  noticing  this,  blew  his  whistle,  for  (as  he  ap- 
peared to  think)  a  bit  of  fun.  The  next  moment  both 
horses  were  in  the  canal,  kicking  one  another,  and  en- 
tangled in  their  own  harness.  When  rescued,  five  min- 
utes afterward,  one  horse  was  sinking,  and  the  other 
nearly  exhausted.  Fortunately,  they  succeeded  in  get- 
ting a  rope  under  the  head  of  each  of  them,  and  towed 
them  to  a  spot  where  they  could  be  got  out.  What 
Captain  Spoor  said  and  did  I  only  know  on  hearsay 
evidence  from  the  drivers.  They  describe  him  as  hav- 
ing been  calmly  terrific  during  the  crisis,  and  rather 
(their  idea  of  rather  is  very  mild  as  a  general  thing) 
blasphemous  after  it  was  over.  I  confess  myself  that  I 
felt  very  much  like  choking  that  engine-man,  when  I 
saw,  as  I  thought,  two  valuable  horses  drowning  in 
consequence  of  his  folly.  I  did  not,  however,  and  I 
think  it  was  just  as  well,  see  Captain  Spoor  to  speak  to 
till  dinner-time,  for  he  remained  with  his  horses  on  the 
towpath  after  we  had  succeeded  in  starting,  and  when 
he  did  come  aboard  his  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 
He  had  been  trying  a  new  span  of  horses  that  day  for 
the  first  time.  He  had  bought  them  "  dirt  cheap  "  in 
the  country,  and  to  his  delight  had  found  out  that  they 
were  worth  twice  their  cost.  As  a  general  thing  it  is 
surprising  how  careful  an  old  canal  horse  or  mule  is. 
He  never  rushes  at  his  work,  and  he  picks  his  steps  as 
carefully  as  Miss  Fashion  does  when  she  is  compelled 


126  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

to  cross  Broadway  on  a  muddy  day.  Occasionally  an 
old  horse  will  fall  into  the  canal,  but  it  rarely  happens ; 
and,  when  he  does  fall  in,  it  is  so  near  the  bank  that, 
preserving,  as  he  generally  does,  his  presence  of  mind, 
he  quietly  steps  out  again  without  any  harm  done,  un- 
less he  has  injured  himself  against  the  rough  stones  of 
the  bank  in  falling. 

The  hours  of  canal-life  are  observed  with  all  the 
strictness  and  regularity  of  the  canonical  hours  in  the 
most  rigid  monastic  establishment.  The  day  is  divided 
into  four  parts  of  six  hours  each.  Six  hours  is  techni- 
cally known  as  a  "  trick,"  and,  with  the  exception  of 
Captain  Spoor,  every  man  on  board  the  Admiral  had 
two  tricks  a  day.  The  hours  for  meals  are  so  arranged 
as  to  enable  those  coming  off  a  trick  to  eat  immediate- 
ly after  those  going  on.  The  steersman  takes  the  tiller 
at  seven  in  the  morning.  At  twelve  the  captain  is 
called  out  of  bed,  goes  through  his  bucket  of  water, 
and  has  his  dinner.  The  same  with  the  second  driver. 
At  one  o'clock  exactly  the  steersman  cries  "  Wo-oah  ! " 
and  the  team  stops ;  the  boat  is  made  fast,  the  horse- 
bridge  is  put  in  position,  the  fresh  team  is  taken  out  of, 
and  the  tired  team  put  in,  the  stable,  the  bridge  is 
drawn  up,  the  boat  is  unmoored,  another  start  is  made, 
and  the  steersman  and  first  driver  are  washing  for  din- 
ner within  five  minutes  of  the  stop,  the  captain  and  sec- 
ond driver  having  taken  their  places.  The  same  order 
is  observed  in  making  the  other  changes  at  seven  in  the 
evening,  and  one  in  the  morning.     Captain  Spoor  does 


LIFE   ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL.  127 

all  the  mooring  on  going  into  locks,  swashes  the  decks 
every  morning,  occasionally  relieves  a  steerer  or  a  driver, 
and  keeps  up  a  general  superintendence  of  the  stable. 
The  captain's  consumption  of  tobacco  is  large  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  except  when  he  is  eating  or  sleeping. 
When  he  eats  he  always  removes  his  quid  from  his 
mouth  and  puts  it  in  a  place  of  safety,  to  be  resumed 
as  soon  as  his  meal  is  over ;  when  he  is  asleep  I  pre- 
sume his  quid  reposes  peacefully  in  some  hollow  tooth. 
But  when  he  is  busy  at  work  he  takes  as  much  tobacco 
as  an  elephant  does  of  hay  to  make  one  mouthful,  and 
perfect  cascades  of  tobacco-juice  mingle  with  the  waters 
of  the  canal — to  spit  on  the  deck  is  an  awful  desecra- 
tion, in  the  eyes  of  the  captain.  A  miniature  Niagara 
pours  from  his  mouth  when  he  is  blowing  up  a  driver 
for  neglect  of  duty.  This  he  never  does  without  cause, 
but  when  there  is  cause  he  does  his  work  pretty  effect- 
ually. As  he  himself  puts  it,  "  What  I  begins  I 
allers  makes  an  end  on."  The  driver  certainly  has  a 
pretty  hard  row  to  hoe.  The  moment  he  has  swal- 
lowed his  dinner — for  that  is  literally  all  he  does  with 
it — he  feeds  and  grooms  his  horses  ;  and,  as  soon  as  he 
has  done  all  his  "  chores,"  as  these  duties  are  termed  in 
canal  parlance,  he  hurries  off  to  his  bunk  to  get  about 
three  hours'  sleep  before  getting  ready  to  go  on  his 
next  trick.  None  too  much  for  him,  though  he  does 
get  it  twice  a  day.  The  average  rate  of  towing  is  from 
one  mile  and  a  half  to  two  miles  an  hour.  Any  thing 
over  is  very  fast  traveling,  unless  the  boat  is  not  load- 


128  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

ed.  This  gives  the  driver  from  eighteen  to  twenty-four 
miles  walking  a  day  on  a  path  that  is  unavoidably  four 
or  five  inches  deep  in  mud  or  dust.  Verily,  the  way  of 
the  driver  is  hard,  and  he  only  gets  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  month  and  his  board. 

There  is  one  thing :  his  wardrobe  costs  him  little, 
his  washing  absolutely  nothing.  He  buys  a  shirt  and 
wears  it  until  it  is  worn  out ;  he  wears  no  stockings,  no 
boots ;  he  sleeps  in  his  clothes,  so  has  no  need  of  a 
night-shirt.  Could  personal  expenses  be  conducted  on 
a  more  economical  scale  in  any  other  walk  of  life  ?  Of 
course,  there  are  his  tobacco  and  gin  ;  the  one  from 
morning  till  night,  sometimes  during  sleep,  the  other 
on  tolerably  frequent  occasions,  to  as  great  an  extent 
as  the  captain  will  make  an  advance  on  his  month's 
wages.  He  also  sometimes  affects  fancy  trappings  for 
the  harness  of  his  horses  or  mules,  all  of  which  he  has 
to  pay  for  himself. 

The  driver  has  one  characteristic  not  altogether  pe- 
culiar to  his  class.  From  the  time  he  starts  on  his 
trick  to  the  time  he  comes  off,  he  seldom  or  never  ceases 
whistling.  Of  the  thousands  of  drivers  I  have  passed, 
going  up  and  down  the  canal,  I  do  not  think  I  have  met 
a  dozen  who  were  not  whistling'.  They  none  of  them 
whistle  popular  airs,  and  it  is  that  that  puzzles  me. 
They  seem  to  have  a  musical  repertoire  of  their  own. 
Most  of  their  tunes  have  an  Irish  twang  about  them — 
a  sort  of  long,  low,  weird  melody,  which  goes  on  and 
on  without  coming  to  any  definite  ending,  and  yet  very 


LIFE    ON  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  129 

few  of  tliem  speak  with  an  Irish  brogue.  However,  be 
that  as  it  may,  they  seem  to  whistle  through  existence 
much  to  their  own  satisfaction,  for  they  don't  appear  to 
have  a  care  or  a  thought  for  the  morrow. 

When  we  were  off  the  great  Harmony  Cotton-mills, 
the  clouds  suddenly  broke  away,  and  the  evening  sun 
shone  forth  in  all  his  glory.  Soon  after  we  were  in 
full  view  of  the  Falls  of  the  Mohawk.  The  valley  of 
the  Hudson  and  the  picturesque  hills  beyond,  looked 
as  fresh  and  green  after  the  rain  as  the  eye  could  wish, 
and  the  rapids  of  the  Mohawk  above  the  falls  scattered 
myriads  of  spray  diamonds.  Every  one  on  board  seemed 
at  once  to  be  reinvigorated ;  and  as  we  swept  round 
the  Half-Moon,  over  the  lower  aqueduct,  by  means  of 
which  the  canal  crosses  the  Mohawk  River,  we  all  went 
down  to  supper  as  cheerful  as  we  had  before  been  mis- 
erable. The  aqueduct  was  in  itself  a  sight  worth  see- 
ing from  the  canal-bank,  after  we  had  turned  round 
and  were  following  the  course  of  the  river.  One  side 
of  it  has  no  parapet,  in  order  to  allow  the  surplus 
water  of  the  canal  to  fall  into  the  river,  which  it  does 
in  a  thin  sheet  extending  from  one  bank  to  the  other. 
Looking  through  the  bridge  in  the  sunlight,  it  seems 
R8  though  a  curtain  of  golden  lace,  profusely  enriched 
with  diamonds,  was  hung  before  the  bridge,  giving  it 
a  fantastic  but  very  graceful  effect.  So  captivated  was 
I  by  this  pretty  play  of  the  light  on  the  water,  that, 
anxious  as  I  was  to  avoid  unnecessary  delay,  I  was  not 
sorry  when  the  captain  told  me  that  horses  and  men 


130  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

were  all  a  little  knocked  up  (it  was  their  first  trip  of 
tlie  season),  and  that  lie  proposed  to  stop  at  Crescent, 
just  below  the  aqueduct,  till  after  daybreak  next  morn- 
ing.    By  nine  o'clock  we  were  all  asleep  in  our  bunks. 

The  following  morning  every  one  was  out  of  bed  by 
half-past  four  o'clock,  and  as  I  sat  on  the  deck  in  the 
early  morning  sun,  while  one  of  the  drivers  dashed  pail 
after  pail  of  cold  water  over  me,  I  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  a  canal  boatman  has  some  privileges  which 
other  men  have  not.  At  half-past  Hve  we  started,  Cap- 
tain Spoor  jocular  and  in  the  best  of  humors,  and  skirt- 
ed the  line  of  the  Mohawk  River  for  twelve  miles,  till, 
in  the  afternoon,  we  reached  the  upper  aqueduct.  Af- 
ter again  crossing  the  river,  two  hours'  towing  brought 
us  into  Schenectady,  and,  soon  after,  we  were  in  that 
fine  straight  piece  of  canal  which  passes  across  the  end 
of  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  into  which  we 
turned  by  a  sharp  elbow,  and  which  we  did  not  leave 
till  we  reached  Oriskany,  a  few  miles  west  of  Utica. 

Sunset  is  the  hour  of  the  day  of  all  others  to  be  on  a 
canal,  and  sunset  approached  as  we  slowly  made  our  way 
up  the  valley.  At  sunset  the  stillness  of  the  atmosphere 
permits  of  the  reflection  of  the  trees  in  the  canal  as  in 
a  mirror ;  the  dull,  leaden-hued  water  is  lit  up  with  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow ;  the  boats,  with  their  red, 
blue,  green,  or  pink  stripes,  and  their  few  colored 
things  hanging  from  a  clothes-line,  are  reproduced  in 
the  water  and  seem  to  lose  all  their  uncouth  appear- 
ance ;   the  captains  sit  on  deck,  smoking  their  pipes, 


LIFE   ON  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  131 

while  tlieir  wives  and  children  arrange  themselves  in 
natural  bnt  picturesque  groups  around  them  ;  and  the 
tli in  blue  smoke  of  the  expiring  supper-fires  curls  up 
from  the  little  cabin  chimneys  to  give  the  finishing 
touch  to  the  picture.  The  sound  of  an  accordion  or  a 
banjo  on  a  distant  boat  seems  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  scene.  And  thus  the  busy,  laborious  life  of  the 
canal  sinks  into  rest ;  nothing  heard  save  the  whistle 
of  the  drivers,  the  occasional  hum  of  the  steersmen,  the 
tread  of  the  horses,  and  the  plashing  ripple  of  the 
water.  But  it  is  only  to  break  forth  again,  vigorous 
and  hearty  as  ever,  so  soon  as  the  sun  sheds  his  first 
morning  ray.  As  the  twilight  deepens  into  darkness 
the  bright  bow-lights  are  displayed  from  the  stem  of 
every  boat,  lighting  up  the  towpath  and  guiding  the 
steersman.  As  the  light  flashes  on  the  trees  the  shade 
beneath  them  becomes  more  intense  and  black,  throw- 
ing into  relief  the  evening  mists  as  they  curl  and  eddy 
up  from  the  water  in  such  fantastic  shapes  that,  at 
times,  they  appear  to  assume  form,  and  look  like  some 
spectre  issuing  from  the  dark  recesses  of  pool  and 
wood.  And  then,  up  rises  the  moon  in  all  her  splendor 
to  dissipate  any  such  fancies,  and  one  feels  something 
of  the  force  of  the  lines — 

"  The  day  is  gone !  ah  me  !  I  love  the  day ; 

He  cheers  me  with  his  warm- and  sunny  light. 
The  day  is  gone !  ah  me  !  I  cannot  stay 
To  mourn  him  'mid  the  beauties  of  the  night." 

During  the   second   day   of   our   trip   things   had 


132  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

worked  tolerably  into  ship-shape,  and  on  the  third 
day  the  business  of  the  boat  went  on  with  clock-work 
regularity  and  precision.  The  time  for  changing  was 
kejyfc  to  the  minute,  Captain  Lamoreaux  setting  a  good 
example  by  always  being  the  first  to  get  to  his  post. 
In  the  night  we  had  made  fair  progress,  and  at  three 
in  the  morning  were  off  Port  Jackson,  a  village  opposite 
Amsterdam,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mohawk.  At  the 
same  time,  by  passing  through  a  lock  every  five  miles 
or  so,  we  were  continually  attaining  a  higher  level. 

As  we  wound  slowly  along  the  valley  of  the  Mo- 
hawk, following  closely  the  course  of  the  river,  we 
passed  many  boats  going  east,  wrhich  had  been  frozen 
in  higher  up  the  canal.  Every  time  we  passed  one, 
the  captains  exchanged  inquiries  as  to  where  they 
had  been  frozen  in,  what  they  had  aboard,  and  what 
tonnage.  As  we  got  farther  on  and  began  to  meet 
the  first  boats  from  Buffalo,  the  excitement  was  intense 
to  know  the  rate  of  freights  to  New  York.  If  quota- 
tions were  bad,  Captain  Lamoreaux  smoked  his  pipe  in 
gloomy  silence.  If  the  report  was  that  rates  were  firm 
and  boats  scarce,  he  would  shout  to  the  driver  to  "  hurry 
up  that  team,"  and  would  be  as  jolly  as  a  sand-boy  all 
the  afternoon.  At  Little  Falls  a  captain  told  us  that 
rates  were  up  a  cent  a  ton,  and  his  joy  knew  no  bounds. 

At  Little  Falls  they  have  a  patent  apparatus  in  the 
lock,  which  I  did  not  see  elsewhere.  The  waste  water 
from  the  lock  is  used  to  turn  a  wheel,  which  works 
the  lock-gates  and  draws  the  boat  into  the  lock.     This 


LIFE   ON  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  133 

saves  a  great  deal  of  physical  labor,  and  a  very  great 
deal  of  fuss  and  bad  language.  The  gates  fall  and 
rise,  instead  of  opening  and  shutting.  This  is  the  case 
at  a  few  other  locks,  but  it  is  done  by  manual  labor. 

The  church-bells  were  ringing  for  morning  service 
as  we  passed  through  Ilion ;  the  people  were  coming 
out  of  church  when  w^e  passed  Frankfort.  There  is,  so 
far  as  I  could  see,  absolutely  nothing  to  distinguish 
Sunday  from  any  other  day  in  canal-life.  There  are, 
doubtless,  some  who  observe  the  day ;  in  fact,  there  are 
a  few  boats — known  as  "  Sunday-boats  " — that  lay  up 
*  on  that  day.  But  they  are  very  rare.  In  nearly  every 
case  the  day's  towing,  driving,  steering,  marketing, 
cooking,  washing,  scolding,  swearing,  and  quarreling, 
go  on  as  usual.  This  is  bad.  The  drivers,  most  of 
them  boys,  some  of  them  mere  children,  receive  no  re- 
ligious or  secular  instruction  from  their  parents,  while 
on  the  canal,  and  never  learn  a  lesson  likely  to  counter- 
act the  evil  influences  of  the  school  in  which  they  are 
brought  up.  Their  education  is  entirely  dependent  on 
the  few  months'  schooling  they  can  get  during  the  win- 
ter months  when  the  canal  is  closed.  But  the  respect- 
able boatmen — and  there  are  many  such — leave  their 
boys  at  home,  in  order  that  they  may  go  to  school  and 
learn  something  worth  learning,  and  not  confine  their 
education  to  acquiring  an  unusual  amount  of  black- 
guardism and  profanity  before  they  are  hardly  old 
enough  to  leave  their  mothers'  apron-strings. 

Much  damage  is  done  to  the  moral  systems  of  these 


134  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

lads  by  loafing  around  the  grocery-stores,  to  which  low 
•groggeries  are  generally  attached,  when  the  barges  to 
which  they  belong  get  into  a  bad  block  at  the  locks — 
often  the  cause  of  several  hours'  detention.  They  of 
course  mix  with  the  elder  drivers  and  give  a  helping 
hand,  to  the  best  of  their  ability,  in  any  rum-drinking 
or  fighting  that  may  be  going  on.  These  groceries  are 
perched  along  the  banks  about  every  quarter  of  a  mile, 
and  there  is  always  a  cluster  of  them  round  the  lock- 
gates. 

A  canal  grocery  is  a  study.  In  no  other  class  of 
stores  can  so  heterogeneous  a  collection  of  commodities 
for  sale  be  seen.  You  can  buy  any  thing  from  a  boat- 
hook  to  a  tin  whistle,  from  a  leg  of  mutton  to  a  box  of 
pills.  As  for  patent  medicines,  "  good  for  man  and 
beast"  as  the  advertisements  say,  to  judge  from  the 
quantity  and  variety  of  them  to  be  found  in  these  canal 
groceries,  one  would  imagine  that  canallers  and  their 
families  are  the  most  unhealthy  people  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  that  their  horses  and  mules  are  apt  to 
be  ailing  beyond  all  other  horses  and  mules.  The  stores 
are  hung  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  with  the  party- 
colored  display  cards  of  all  the  humbug  nostrums  under 
the  sun  ;  and  they  are  kept  in  stock,  too. 

I  was  in  one  of  these  stores  one  day,  in  company 
with  Captain  Spoor,  who  was  making  some  purchases 
on  account  of  the  Admiral's  commissariat  department. 
There  was  the  usual  gathering  of  half-witted-looking 
young  fellows  in  high  boots,  who  lolled  against  the 


LIFE   ON  TIIE   ERIE   CANAL.  135 

casing  of  the  door  or  sat  on  flour  and  apple  barrels ; 
and  in  the  half  a  dozen  arm-chairs  reserved  for  the  local 
aristocracy,  sat  the  usual  collection  of  gossipers,  discuss- 
ing the  coming  presidential  election,  a  sale  of  live-stock, 
the  price  of  corn,  last  Sunday's  sermon,  and  the  addition 
to  Smith's  family.  All  these  subjects  were  discussed  in 
my  hearing  while  I  awaited  the  convenience  of  Captain 
Spoor,  who  had  lighted  on  an  old  acquaintance,  one  of 
the  very  few  whom  he  ever  favors  with  much  of  his 
conversation.  But  a  shout  from  Captain  Lamoreaux  at 
last  informed  us  that  it  was  the  Admiral's  turn  to  pass 
the  lock,  and,  to  my  relief,  Captain  Spoor  bade  his 
friend  good-day,  picked  up  his  purchases,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  boat. 

When  we  got  on  board  I  said  to  him  :  "  Captain,  I 
should  have  thought  you  boatmen  were  a  very  healthy 
class  of  men,  being  out  in  the  fresh  air  so  much  as  you 
are ! " 

"  Well,  who  said  we  wasn't  ?  "  retorted  the  captain, 
with  an  angry  snort  at  the  bare  suspicion  of  his  not 
being  "  as  strong  as  a  horse  " — his  favorite  expression 
when  dilating  on  the  robustness  of  his  constitution,  of 
which  he  was  very  proud. 

"  No  one,"  I  replied  meekly.  "  But  it  strikes  me  that 
the  grocery-men  would  not  keep  such  a  large  stock  of 
pills  on  hand  if  they  did  not  find  a  brisk  sale  for  them." 

Captain  Spoor  regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  scorn,  and  then,  without  saying  a 
word,  sat  down  on  the  roof  of  the  cabin  and  helped 


136  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

himself  to  an  enormous  chew  of  tobacco.  Pills  were 
evidently  another  item  in  his  category  of  things  that 
"  won't  bear  talkin'  on." 

But  I  was  in  a  pertinacious  mood  that  afternoon,  and, 
after  a  minute  or  two  pause,  I  asked  him,  "  Do  you  ever 
take  any  of  these  pills,  captain  ? " 

"  My  God  !  what  d'yer  take  me  for  ? "  he  yelled  as 
he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  then  a  spasm,  as  of  some  pain- 
ful recollection,  seemed  to  come  over  him,  and  he  quietly 
sat  down  again  with  an  expression  of  deep  dejection  on 
his  face.  Presently,  looking  me  straight  in  the  face,  he 
said  in  the  most  solemn  manner :  "  Young  man !  them 
pills  is  the  damnationest  fraud  as  ever  was.  Yes,  sir, 
by  God !  I  say  so ;  and  it's  a  dreadful  thing  for  Hat 
Spoor  to  be  able  to  say.  It  come  about  this  wise :  I 
never  was  sick  in  my  life  but  once  since  I  had  the 
measles,  and  that  were  about  twelve  years  ago.  I  was 
a  steersman  then  and  had  the  night  trick.  Well,  I 
ketched  chills  an'  fever,  and  says  I,  '  Hat  Spoor,  get  a 
box  o'  them  pills ; '  and,  would  you  believe,  Hat  Spoor 
was  God-damned  fool  enough  to  go  and  do  as  I  told  him ! 
I  paid  twenty-five  cents  for  that  box  o'  pills ;  and,  though 
I  swan  I  took  the  hull  lot  of  'em '  that  night,  I  was  so 
bad  next  day  that  my  woman  was  obliged  to  get  a  doc- 
tor to  me.  '  It's  them  damned  pills  as  has  done  it,'  says 
the  doctor ;  '  what  on  earth  persuaded  yer  to  take  sech 
rubbish  ? '  l  Mad  !  doctor,'  says  I ;  '  mad,  damned  mad  ! ' 
Well,  he  give  me  a  bottle  o'  brandy  and  kinnine ;  and 
that's  the  fust  and  last  physic  as  Hat  Spoor  ever  willin'ly 

1  Every  box  contains  twenty-five  pills. 


LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  137 

took,  an'  the  last  as  he  ever  will  take.  No,  sir,  by  God  ! 
Hat  Spoor  11  give  the  undertaker  a  job  fust — he'll  die  ! " 

The  captain  hissed  those  words  "  he'll  die  "  into  my 
ear  with  such  a  horrible  intensity  that  I  was  awed  into 
silence.  I  was  no  little  taken  aback,  too,  at  hearing  him 
utter  so  many  consecutive  sentences.  Six  words  were 
about  the  most  I  had  as  yet  known  to  come  from  his 
lips  at  one  time.  He  seemed  overwhelmed  with  self- 
disgust.  For  some  minutes  we  sat  side  by  side  on  the 
cabin-roof  in  solemn  silence,  and,  although  I  was  by 
no  means  hungry,  I  blessed  the  cook  when  she  put  her 
head  above  deck  and  called  out,  "  Supper."  As  I  rose  to 
obey  the  summons,  Captain  Spoor  laid  his  hand  sorrow- 
fully on  my  arm  and  said  : 

"  Young  man !  no  one  ever  know'd  about  them 
pills  but  the  chap  as  sold  'em  to  me,  the  doctor,  an'  my 
woman.  The  chap  as  sold  'em  to  me  an'  the  doctor's 
both  dead.     Now  you  go  to  supper." 

We  were  jnst  entering  Utica  when  I  returned  to  the 

deck,  where  I  found  the  captain  still  sitting  where  I 

had  left   him,  evidently  brooding  over  his  imaginary 

self-degradation  in  the  matter  of  that  famous  box  of 

pills.     As  I  appeared,  he  called  to  the  steersman  to 

u  shove  her  in,"  and,  jumping  ashore,  he  beckoned  to  me 

to  follow  him.     We  walked  hastily  on,  ahead  of  the 

boat,  the  captain's  look  of  dejection  gradually  giving 

place  to  one  of  profound  mystery.    After  we  had  walked 

some  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so,  he  stopped  and  looked 

back.    On  seeing  that  the  boat  was  well  behind,  he  said  • 
10 


138  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

"  Young  man  !  I  ain't  drinked  any  thing  in  over  a 
year.  But  there's  a  chap,  just  above,  who  sells  very 
good  brandy,  and  I'm  goin'  to  have  some." 

It  was  evident  that  the  captain's  soul  was  deeply 
moved.  Well,  we  had  our  drinks,  the  brandy  was  very 
good,  and  the  captain  soon  appeared  to  regain  his  ordi- 
narily cheerful  spirits.  But  he  chewed  fearfully  all  that 
evening. 

When  we  left  Utica  behind  us,  we  parted  with  the 
locks  for  some  time  to  come.  There  is  no  lock  from 
Utica  to  Lodi,  a  village  one  mile  east  of  Syracuse,  a  dis- 
tance of  fifty-six  miles.  We  were  in  Rome  when  I  turned 
out  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  I  found  Captain 
Spoor  on  deck,  in  his  best  of  moods,  for  it  had  rained 
heavily  in  the  early  part  of  the  night,  and  the  sun  was 
now  shining  brilliantly.  He  had  a  basket  on  his  arm 
and  a  milk-can  in  his  hand,  ready  to  stop  at  the  first 
grocery  to  get  some  things  for  breakfast.  The  boat  was 
swung  over  close  to  the  grocery-dock  and  we  descended 
the  "  bustles  " — the  heavy  beams  which  brace  the  stern 
and  stand  out  about  two  inches — and  sprang  ashore 
without  stopping. 

"  Good-morning,  captain.  Fine  weather  for  the  coun- 
try this,  after  the  rain,"  said  the  grocery -keeper  as  we 
entered. 

"  Hem  ! "  coughed  the  captain,  looking  up  at  the 
sky  and  all  around ;  "  spile  all  the  little  potatoes,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"  Why,  how's  that,  cap  ? "  asked  the  grocer. 


LIFE   OX  THE  ERIE   CANAL.  139 

"  Make  'em  all  grow  big,1'  replied  the  captain,  with- 
out moving  a  muscle  of  his  face.  And  then  he  added 
quickly,  "  Two  quarts  milk,  three  pounds  steak,  quarter 
a  pound  tobacco,  and  we  don't  want  nothin'  else." 

Having  been  furnished  with  these  supplies  we  started 
after  the  boat. 

"  Why  don't  you  hail  her  to  stop  ? "  I  asked. 

"  What ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  if  you  can't  jump  from  a 
bridge,  you'll  have  to  walk  to  the  next  lock,  an'  that's 
nigh  upon  forty-one  mile." 

So  we  walked  on  to  the  nearest  bridge,  and,  as  the 
boat  came  up,  we  hung  to  the  edge  of  the  outside  beam 
with  our  hands,  and,  as  she  passed  under  us,  dropped 
on  to  the  deck. 

"  Hold  on  there,"  cried  the  captain  as  soon  as  we 
were  on  our  feet ;  and,  drawing  up  a  bucket  of  water, 
he  dashed  it  over  my  boots  and  his  own. 

This  is  an  invariable  rule  on  canal-boats  where  the 
captain  likes  things  clean  and  nice — no  one  is  allowed 
to  walk  about  on  deck  after  having  been  ashore  till 
he  has  washed  his  boots.  I  said  nothing,  though  I  did 
not  at  all  relish  the  idea  of  sitting  down  to  breakfast 
with  my  boots  wet  through. 

"  Ever  done  that  afore  ? "  inquired  the  captain,  al- 
luding to  the  drop  from  the  bridge,  as  we  descended  the 
cab  in- stairs. 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  ! "  rejoined  the  captain. 

After  breakfast  I  lit  my  pipe  and  went  on  deck. 


140  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

To  ray  surprise,  I  found  Captain  Spoor  in  charge  of  the 
boat.  I  seated  myself  on  the  top  of  the  cabin,  hoping 
to  get  him  into  a  talking  vein  again  while  he  handled 
the  tiller.  His  eye  was  fixed  on  the  stem,  his  fresh 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  chewing-tobacco  was  thrust  into 
his  trousers-pocket,  and  he  was  rolling  an  enormous 
quid  in  his  cheek.  I  tried  hard  to  open  the  ball,  but  I 
could  only  get  monosyllabic  replies.  I  was  about  giving 
it  up  in  despair,  when  he  said  : 

"  See  there,  now ;  there's  a  pretty  sort  o'  steersman ! " 
as  a  boat  approached  us  in  the  opposite  direction. 

We  passed  within  a  few  inches  of  one  another,  and 
the  captain  of  the  other  boat,  a  little  pock-marked,  wall- 
eyed man,  saluted  us  with  a  storm  of  canal  blackguard- 
ism in  a  very  squeaky  voice  for  crowding  him. 

"  Guess  your  mother  raised  you  on  suckin'  pig,  didn't 
she  ? "  was  the  only  reply  he  drew  from  Captain  Spoor, 
and  the  captain  again  subsided  into  silence  and  chewed 
violently,  though  he  was  evidently  pleased  at  the  en- 
counter. 

I  ventured  to  ask  him  if  he  would  intrust  me  with 
the  helm  for  a  few  minutes.  He  stared  at  me  and  said 
severely : 

"  Helium  !  we  calls  'em  tillers.     Yes." 

I  took  hold  of  the  tiller,  while  the  captain  regarded 
me  with  a  half-critical,  half- whimsical  look.  From  my 
boyhood  I  had  always  been  very  fond  of  boating,  and 
for  two  seasons  I  was  stroke  of  an  eight-oared  boat ;  so 
I  knew  something  about  the  principles  of  steering.     I 


LIFE   ON  TIIE  ERIE   CANAL.  141 

was  astonished,  however,  at  the  labor  of  bringing  the 
tiller  over,  but,  nevertheless,  got  along  pretty  well.  The 
captain's  face  gradually  assumed  a  serious  aspect.  I  be- 
lieve he  thought  at  that  moment  that  I  had  been  hoax- 
ing him  all  along,  and  that  this  was  not  my  first  trip 
on  a  canal. 

"  Ever  do  that  afore  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  By  God ! 
there  ain't  one  greenhorn  in  a  thousand  as  could  a-done 
it.  You've  kep'  her  as  straight  all  roun'  them  bends 
as  I  could  a  done  myself." 

I  explained  to  him  that,  in  my  younger  days,  I  had 
boated  on  the  river  for  years ;  but  he  would  not  allow 
that  that  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it. 

At  Lodi  we  made  our  first  lock  down,  our  second, 
half  a  mile  farther  on,  and  our  third  in  Syracuse,  where 
we  arrived  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  We  had  some 
freight  to  deliver,  and  the  boat's  clearances  had  to  be 
signed  at  the  collector's  office ;  but  it  was  all  over  and 
we  were  towing  past  Geddes,  where  one  section  of  the 
great  salt-works  is  located,  when  I  went  on  deck  for  my 
morning  bath.  Captain  Spoor  presented  me  with  a 
cigar  given  to  him  by  the  collector ;  the  first  time,  Cap- 
tain Lamoreaux  told  me  afterward,  that  he  had  ever 
known  him  to  accept  one  from  that  official,  and  a  sure 
sign  that  I  was  in  the  captain's  good  graces.  It  was 
my  steering  the  day  before  that  did  it.  Fourteen  miles 
from  Geddes,  we  passed  Peru — the  half-way  point  be- 


142  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

tween  Albany  and  Buffalo,  and  I  jumped  ashore  for  a 
walk  along  the  towing-path.  I  was  surprised  at  the 
number  of  skeletons  of  horses  that  I  saw,  .dragged  just 
inside  the  woods.  I  find  that  a  vast  number  die  on  the 
towpath  or  in  the  stables  every  year.  They  are  drawn 
out  of  sight  and  left  unburied.  Those  that  get  drowned 
are  stripped  of  their  harness  and  left  to  float  down  with 
the  current  of  the  canal.  Every  other  conceivable  thing 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  canal — dead  dogs  and  cats,  dead 
chickens,  rats,  fish,  bull-frogs,  etc.  In  fact,  till  you  get 
to  Rochester,  from  which  point  the  canal  is  much  wider, 
and  fed  from  Lake  Erie,  the  water  of  the  canal  does  not 
look  very  enticing.  Beyond  Rochester,  all  along  the 
Long  Level,  sixty-three  miles  without  a  lock,  to  Lock- 
port,  the  water  is  very  clear  and  much  fresher.  About 
fifteen  miles  from  Peru  we  traversed  the  great  Mon- 
tezuma Marsh,  on  an  embankment  about  twenty  feet 
high.  It  is  about  as  desolate  a  looking  spot  as  a  man 
need  wish  to  see.  Mark  Tapley  might  have  pitched  his 
tent  there  with  the  utmost  advantage.  He  would  have 
found  a  splendid  opportunity  for  being  jolly  under  ad- 
verse circumstances.  The  distance  across  the  marsh  is 
five  miles,  and  the  mixture  of  swamp-grass,  water,  and 
flags,  extends  for  miles  on  either  side  of  the  canal. 

One  afternoon  the  Admiral  got  caught  in  a  crowd  of 
boats  just  below  the  locks  at  Newark.  There  was  lit 
tie  prospect  of  our  getting  through  before  midnight,  so 
Captain  Lamoreaux,  who  lives  in  Arcadia,  which  ad- 
joins Newark,  went  ashore  to  see  his  family,  and  I  be- 


LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL.  143 

took  myself  to  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  in  order  to  wile 
away  the  time.  I  Lad  been  writing  for  about  a  couple 
of  hours,  when  Captain  Spoor  slowly  descended  the 
hatchway  of  the  little  cabin.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
stared  at  me  with  the  half-perplexed,  half-mysterious 
look  which  at  times  is  peculiar  to  him.  His  hesitating 
manner  and  the  fact  that  he  was  arrayed  in  a  clean 
white  shirt  and  his  Sunday  trousers  and  waistcoat — 
and  on  a  week-day  too — quickly  aroused  my  curiosity, 
and  I  wondered  what  was  coming. 

The  captain  at  last  succeeded  in  working  himself  up 
to  the  scratch,  and,  having  rolled  his  quid  of  tobacco 
from  one  cheek  to  the  other,  he  jerked  out  "  Do-me-a- 
favor,"  as  one  word,  as  though  he  were  afraid  to  trust 
the  words  to  come  out  one  at  a  time,  lest  he  should 
break  down. 

"  Certainly,  captain,  if  it  be  in  my  power,"  I  replied. 
"  What  is  the  nature  of  it  i " 

The  captain  ascended  two  steps  of  the  cabin  stair- 
case, shut  the  double  doors,  and  closed  the  hatch  with 
as  little  noise  as  possible  and  with  an  air  of  considera- 
ble mystery,  and  then,  seating  himself  opposite  to  me 
on  a  wooden  stool,  stared  at  me  with  the  utmost  grav- 
ity without  uttering  a  word. 

"  Well,  captain,"  said  I,  wellnigh  laughing,  "  you'll 
have  to  open  the  ball.     I  can't  do  that  for  you." 

With  an  evident  effort,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  copi- 
ous expectoration,  the  captain  began.  "  Fact  is,  me  and 
another  man's  got  a  little  business  on  hand  which  we 


141  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

can't  quite  fix  to  our  likin's.     'S  boat's  three  above; 
seen  him  's  afternoon." 

And  there  the  captain  stopped  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
as  though  he  had  imparted  to  me  all  the  information 
that  was  necessary. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  some  advice,  or  to  ar- 
bitrate some  little  matter  of  difficulty  between  you  %  "  I 
inquired. 

"  'Tain't  it,"  he  replied ;  "  'tain't  nothin'  o'  the  sort. 
We  wants  you  to  write  a  letter  for  us.  It  come  about 
just  this :  I  was  a  tellin'  Cap'n  Joe — that's  him — as  I 
had  a  greenhorn  aboard.  i  What  the  h — ll's  he  doin' 
of  ? '  says  he.  '  Writin'  newspapers,'  says  I.  '  Writin' 
newspapers  ? '  says  he ;  '  why,  d — m  me  if  he  ain't  just 
the  chap  for  us.  He'll  fix  the  letter  if  we  pays  him 
for't.  He'd  do't  for  fifty  cents,  may  be  a  quarter.7 
\  Don't  think  as  he  would,'  says  I.  "  Shouldn't  like  to 
ask  him.  Fifty  cents  ain't  nothin'  to  him.'  '  Then  ask 
him  to  do  it  as  a  favor,'  says  he.  '  We  sha'n't  get 
through  the  locks  afore  midnight ;  s'pose  you  and  him 
comes  aboard  to  supper  i  And  tell  him  I've  got  some 
tip-top  old  bourbon  aboard.'  '  I'll  do  it,'  says  I ;  '  by 
God  I'll  do't!'" 

And  then,  as  if  astonished  at  the  energy  and  diplo- 
matic ability  he  had  displayed  in  the  matter,  the  cap- 
tain exclaimed,  as  he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table, 
"  An'  damn  me,  if  I  ain't  done  it,  too  ! " 

Of  course  I  willingly  consented  to  act  as  their 
amanuensis  for  the  nonce ;  and  so  delighted  was  Cap- 


LIFE   ON  TIIE   ERIE   CANAL.  145 

taiu  Spoor  at  having  shifted  the  burden  of  writing  the 
important  letter  (he  told  me  confidentially  that  the 
other  captain  could  not  sign  his  name)  from  his  own 
shoulders  to  mine,  that  he  skipped  about  the  deck  for 
the  remander  of  the  afternoon  in  a  state  of  feverish  anx- 
iety for  supper-time  to  arrive. 

At  six  o'clock  to  the  minute,  we  stood  on  the  deck 
of  Captain  Joe's  boat,  and  a  fat,  pursy  little  man,  who 
was  seated  on  the  top  of  the  cabin,  slowly  gathered 
himself  up  and  waddled  forward  to  receive  us. 

u  Cap'n  Joe,"  said  Captain  Spoor,  in  as  dignified  a 
tone  as  he  could  assume  ;  "  make  you  'cquainted  to  Mr. 

.      Man  I  told  you  on.     Considerable  edication. 

Readin'  and  writ  in'  's  no  thin'  to  him.     Says  he'll  do't." 

Captain  Joe  held  my  hand  in  a  vise-like  grasp  while 
he  gasped  out,  "  Happy  to  meet  you,"  went  through  a 
severe  fit  of  coughing,  and  shed  copious  tears. 

I  was  a  little  nonplussed  at  the  weeping.  But  I 
had  not  been  long  in  Captain  Joe's  company  before  I 
discovered  that  he  suffered  from  the  chronic  stomach- 
cough  peculiar  to  very  fat  men,  and  that  an  attack  of  it 
always  brought  the  water  into  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  his  name  ? "  I  whispered  to  Captain 
Spoor. 

"  Joe  :  didn't  you  hear  me  say  Joe  \ "  responded  the 
captain  aloud. 

Knowing  the  captain's  singular  and  invincible  dis- 
like to  the  use  of  surnames,  I  thought  it  was  useless  to 
pursue  the  inquiry,  and  I  let  the  matter  drop. 


U6  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Captain  Joe  had  by  this  time  recovered  himself,  and 
was  wheezily  gasping  out  his  thanks  to  me  for  taking 
their  business  in  hand,  when  a  tawny-faced,  slipshod 
woman,  the  very  opposite  of  Captain  Joe,  for  she  was 
tall,  lean,  and  scraggy,  bobbed  up  the  cabin-stairs, 
called  out  "  Supper  "  in  a  harsh  voice,  and  disappeared 
immediately,  as  though  she  disliked  the  light  as  much 
as  an  owl.  Captain  Joe  echoed  "  Supper  "  to  the  steers- 
man and  driver,  who  were  off  duty,  as  loudly  as  his 
physical  economy  would  permit.  Captain  Spoor  hauled 
up  a  bucket  of  water,  in  which  we  all  rinsed  our  al- 
ready well- washed  hands,  and  then  we  went  down  into 
the  cabin. 

All  the  culinary  resources  of  Captain  Joe's  menage 
had  evidently  been  called  into  requisition  for  the  occa- 
sion. The  table  literally  groaned  under  its  load  of 
good  things ;  more  were  on  the  little  ledge  which, 
standing  out  from  the  cupboard,  did  duty  as  a  side- 
board, and  still  more  were  being  kept  hot  on  the  top 
of  the  cooking- stove.  There  was  an  immense  supply 
of  porter-house  steak,  and  broiled  ham  and  eggs  floating 
in  a  sea  of  grease  deep  enough  for  ducklings  to  swim 
in.  There  were  plates  of  raw  onions,  stewed  apples, 
fried  potatoes,  cookies,  and  molasses-cake.  There  were 
huge  piles  of  bread  and  hot  biscuit,  a  lump  of  butter 
that  must  have  made  a  good-sized  hole  in  the  firkin 
from  which  it  was  taken,  and  a  tin  pot  which  contained 
about  a  gallon  of  boiling-hot  weak  tea.  The  slip-shod 
woman,  a  merry-eyed  young  girl  about  sixteen  years  of 


LIFE   ON  THE   ERIE   CANAL.  147 

age,  whose  form  and  features  proclaimed  her  the  cap- 
tain's daughter,  the  steersman,  and  the  driver,  were  al- 
ready seated  in  solemn  silence  at  the  table  when  we 
entered  the  cabin. 

"  My  woman  an'  gal,"  said  Captain  Joe,  by  way  of 
introduction,  as  he  pointed  with  his  thumb  to  the  indi- 
viduals in  question. 

The  "gal"  ducked  her  head,  and  grinned  from  ear 
to  ear ;  "  my  woman  "  bowed  stiffly,  and  immediately 
proceeded  to  say  grace. 

Captain  Joe  looked  at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  am 
sorry,  but  I  can't  help  it,"  and  whispered  audibly, 
"  member  of  a  church,"  by  wray  of  apology  for  his  wrife's 
adherence  to  principle. 

Mrs.  Captain  Joe,  as  Captain  Spoor  styled  her,  hav- 
ing brought  back  the  whites  of  her  eyes  to  their  proper 
position,  snappishly  corrected  the  driver  for  eating  a 
raw  onion  while  she  was  "  envokin'  the  Divine  bless- 
in'  " — on  the  ham  and  eggs  ;  for  she  bent  her  head  so 
piously  low  over  that  particular  dish  as  to  preclude  the 
idea  that  any  thing  else  on  the  table  was  included  in 
her  fervent  appeal. 

Captain  Joe  at  once  proceeded  to  cut  the  steak  up 
into  portions,  his  wife  did  the  same  with  the  broiled 
ham,  and  every  one  helped  himself  to  his  liking,  using 
the  public  carving-knife  and  his  own  fork  in  so  do- 
ing. In  canal-life  the  ordinary  order  of  things  is  re- 
versed. As  the  knife  is  the  only  implement  which 
boatmen  use  for  conveying  their  food  to  their  mouths, 


148  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

canal-boat  etiquette  demands  that  they  shall  not  use 
their  own  knives  in  helping  themselves.  This  restric- 
tion does  not  apply  to  the  fork,  which  never  finds  its 
way  to  their  mouths. 

By  the  time  every  one  had  "  assisted  "  himself  to 
what  he  wanted,  I  perceived  that  something  was  caus- 
ing Captain  Joe  the  greatest  uneasiness.  He  glanced 
nervously  at  his  wife,  beseechingly  at  Captain  Spoor, 
and  angrily  at  his  daughter.  They  either  did  not  per- 
ceive his  vexation,  or,  not  knowing  its  cause,  thought  it 
better  to  take  no  notice  of  it.  His  patience,  however, 
was  at  last  exhausted ;  and,  almost  thrusting  his  knife 
down  the  unsuspecting  girl's  throat,  he  gasped  out : 

"  Why  in  hell — don't  some  of  you — take  the  man's 
coat — from  him  ?  " 

On  recovering  a  little  from  the  effects  of  this  sud- 
den  and  unlooked-for  explosion,  I  became  alive  to  the 
fact  that  I  was  the  only  member  of  the  company  who 
did  not  appear  in  shirt-sleeves.  At  first  I  hardly  knew 
whether  to  apologize  for  wearing  my  coat  or  to  insist 
on  doing  so.  The  "  gal,"  however,  gave  me  little  time 
for  deliberation.  My  coat  was  off  my  back  long  before 
her  mother  had  finished  a  short  sermon  on  the  awful 
wickedness  of  cursing  and  swearing,  "  which,  bad  as  I 
feels  in  sayin'  so,"  said  Mrs.  Captain  Joe,  turning  to 
me,  "  my  man's  too  often  led  away  to  indulge  in." 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Captain  Spoor  winked  most 
sympathetically  at  Captain  Joe  on  hearing  this  stern 
rebuke  of  his  evil  habit,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he 


LIFE   ON   THE  ERIE   CANAL.  149 

coughed  a  fearfully  hypocritical  approval  to  that  gen- 
tleman's better  half.  The  driver  hurriedly  swallowed 
a  whole  raw  onion,  almost  entirely  without  mastication, 
and  the  steersman  fortified  himself  with  a  hot  biscuit 
and  a  vigorous  application  of  his  dirty  blue-striped 
shirt-sleeve  to  his  perspiring  forehead.  As  for  me,  I 
looked  from  one  to  another,  and  wondered  what  was 
coming  next. 

By  way  of  a  set-off  to  this  little  difficulty,  I  endeav- 
ored to  draw  the  "  gal "  into  conversation ;  but  she 
replied  to  most  of  my  remarks  with  a  giggle,  and  to  all 
my  well-turned  compliments  with  a  "  Pshaw,"  though 
she  appeared  to  be  highly  gratified  at  my  attentions  to 
her.  Not  so,  however,  was  the  young  steersman,  who 
could  scarcely  conceal  his  vexation.  He  was  a  fine, 
good-looking  young  fellow,  and  had  an  eye  to  the 
"  gal,"  as  also  to  the  boat,  the  house  and  lot  in  German- 
town,  and  the  few  hundred  dollars  in  the  savings-bank, 
which,  in  the  course  of  nature,  will  become  her  personal 
property,  she  being  Captain  Joe's  sole  heiress.  The 
more  I  plied  her  with  compliments,  the  more  her  merry 
eyes  danced  with  delight,  the  more  she  laughed,  and 
the  more  the  steersman  frowned.  She  was  evidently 
an  arrant  little  flirt.  In  any  other  case  her  sour-visaged 
mother  would  have  sternly  rebuked  her  for  her  levity ; 
but  she  far  from  favored  the  steersman's  suit,  and 
seemed  to  find  malignant  satisfaction  in  his  discomfit- 
ure. As  it  was,  she  contented  herself  with  mildly 
requesting  her  daughter  to  moderate  her  "  goin's  on." 


150  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

This  brought  out  Captain  Spoor,  who  most  ungallantly 
•addressed  his  hostess  as  "  Old  Upper-crust,"  and  asked 
her  why  she  couldn't  "  let  the  gal  enjoy  herself." 

This  sally  threw  Captain  Joe  into  such  effervescent 
glee  that  he  had  a  terrible  fit  of  coughing.  He  would 
no  more  so  have  dared  to  encounter  his  lady's  virtuous 
indignation  than  to  produce  his  hidden  whisky-bottle 
in  her  presence.  His  gratitude  to  his  friend,  therefore, 
for  his  vicarious  effort  was  unbounded,  the  more  so  as 
it  succeeded  in  driving  the  outraged  lady  to  the  tropi- 
cal privacy  of  the  kitchen,  muttering  between  her  teeth, 
"  Some  men  has  no  manners." 

With  diplomatic  cunning,  the  captain  shortly  after- 
ward sent  the  "  gal "  after  her  with  a  five-dollar  bill, 
and  the  suggestion  that  the  two  ladies  should  go  on  to 
Newark  and  buy  any  stores  they  wanted.  Five  min- 
utes later  the  table  was  cleared,  the  ladies  had  de- 
parted, and  the  two  captains  and  I  were  sitting  in  sol- 
emn conclave  round  a  bottle  of  whisky,  a  pitcher  of  ice- 
water,  and  three  tumblers. 

I  awaited  with  some  curiosity  the  opening  of  the 
business  which  had  brought  us  there.  To  my  astonish- 
ment, I  found  that  all  the  mystery  was  about  a  very 
simple  matter.  It  appeared  that  the  two  captains  had 
had  a  little  business  transaction  in  Buffalo  in  conjunc- 
tion with  a  third  party,  to  whom  had  been  intrusted 
the  management  of  the  affair,  and  who,  from  what  they 
had  lately  heard,  they  feared  was  playing  them  false. 
I  suggested  to  them  to  demand  of  him  an  immediate 


LIFE   ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL.  151 

and  detailed  statement  of  the  condition  of  affairs.  In 
ease  he  neglected  or  refused  to  furnish  it,  I  advised  them 
at  once  to  apply  for  legal  advice. 

"  Cap'  Joe  ! "  said  Captain  Spoor,  very  solemnly, 
"  see  what  'tis  to  be  a  man  of  edication.  He's  hit  it ; 
by  God!  he's  hit  it.  Didn't  I  tell  you  readin'  and 
writin'  warn't  nothin'  to  him  ?  " 

The  captain  was  far  too  absorbed  in  a  severe  fit  of 
coughing  to  reply  otherwise  than  by  pouring  himself 
out  a  tumbler  of  whisky,  nodding  at  me  half  a  dozen 
times  between  his  coughs,  and  then  tossing  it  down  at 
a  gulp.  When  he  had  recovered  himself  a  little,  he 
expressed  his  full  and  entire  approval  of  my  sugges- 
tions. He  produced  from  his  trousers-pocket  a  brown 
envelope  and  a  sheet  of  note-paper,  which  were  no  little 
crumpled  and  soiled  from  having  lain  hidden  there  all 
the  afternoon.  His  wife  knew  nothing  of  the  little 
speculation,  and  of  course  must  be  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  sendino;  of  the  letter. 

I  quickly  indited  a  communication  to  the  fraudu- 
lent partner,  which  Captain  Joe  pronounced  to  be  a 
"  masterpiece  "  of  writing.  Captain  Spoor  was  equally 
delighted. 

"  Ever  do  that  afore  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  told  him  that  I  did  not  remember  having  ever 
written  a  similar  letter. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  business  of  the  evening  having  been  got 
through,  Captain  Joe  lit  a  fresh  pipe  and  declared  his 


152  THE  AMATEUPw  VAGABOND. 

intention  of  having  a  good  time  of  it  till  his  wife  re- 
turned, and  the  young  steersman  was  bribed  with  a 
drink  to  give  due  notice  of  her  approach.  By  the  time 
it  was  dark,  Captain  Joe  had  got  outside  of  about  three 
parts  of  the  bottle  of  whisky,  Captain  Spoor  and  I  be- 
ing very  moderate  men ;  and,  what  with  its  fumes  and 
many  violent  fits  of  coughing,  he  was  fast  approaching 
a  disabled  condition.  He  was  fumbling  in  his  pockets 
for.  some  money  in  order  to  send  out  to  buy  another 
bottle,  when  the  steersman  called  through  the  cabin 
window,  "  Woman's  a-coming."  Captain  Spoor  and  I  at 
once  seized  our  host  and  shot  him  bodily  into  his  bunk, 
with  the  strict  admonition  that  he  should  pretend  to 
be  asleep.  We  rinsed  the  glasses  and  replaced  them 
on  the  table,  so  as  to  give  the  impression  that  we  had 
been  drinking  iced-water,  dropped  the  empty  bottle 
into  the  canal,  and,  covered  by  the  increasing  darkness, 
slipped  over  the  stern  of  the  boat  just  as  Mrs.  Captain 
Joe  and  the  "  gal "  were  clambering  up  the  bow. 

We  passed  through  the  last  of  the  three  locks  at 
Newark  about  midnight  and  sped  away  for  Boches- 
ter,  a  distance  of  thirty-five  miles  and  including  seven 
locks.  From  the  division  line  of  Wayne  and  Monroe 
Counties,  at  Bushnell's  Basin,  the  canal  runs  to  Carters- 
ville,  a  distance  of  nearly  a  mile,  on  an  embankment 
which  I  should  judge  to  be  a  hundred  feet  high  on  either 
side.  It  has  a  very  strange  effect ;  one  feels  as  though 
one  were  perched  on  the  top  of  a  very  high  fence,  with 
no  visible  means  of  getting  off  it.    The  view  of  the  rich 


LIFE   ON  TIIE  ERIE  CANAL.  153 

corn  growing  valleys  is  very  fine.  We  arrived  at  Roches- 
ter about  midnight,  but  could  not  wake  up  the  ware- 
housemen to  deliver  our  freight.  We  made  such  a  noise 
in  trying  to  arouse  them  that  the  police  came  down  and 
ordered  us  to  stop.  The  next  morning  the  proprietor 
had  the  effrontery  to  abuse  Captain  Spoor  for  not  having 
called  his  men  up  and  delivered  his  freight  so  as  to  give 
other  boats  a  chance.  The  captain  told  his  story,  when 
the  foreman  turned  round  and  \  owed  to  his  employer 
that  we  "  never  made  a  sound,"  but  had  "  moored  the 
boat"  and  then  "  had  all  quietly  turned  in." 

The  captain  literally  foamed  with  rage  and  indigna- 
tion. For  some  seconds  he  seemed  unable  to  articulate, 
when  suddenly  he  cooled  down,  and,  turning  contempt- 
uously away,  remarked  in  a  withering  tone  of  voice  : 
"  If  I  thought  I  was  ever  to  be  such  a  God-damned  liar 
as  you,  I'd  a-himg  myself  afore  I  was  born  ! " 

This  very  illogical  denunciation  appeared  to  relieve 
his  mind,  and  he  disappeared  clown  the  hatchway  of 
the  hold. 

The  same  afternoon,  as  we  were  towing  along  the 

high  embankment,  about  five  miles  west  of  Rochester, 

one  of  the  drivers  complained  that  his  feet  were  "  kind 

o'  galled,"  and  I  offered  to  take  his  place  for  an  hour  or 

two  behind  his  team.     Kothing  looks  easier  than  to 

drive  a  span  of  horses  on  the  towpath.     For  half  an 

hour  I  got  along  without  any  egregious  mishap.     But, 

in  passing  through  the  first  lock  we  reached,  I  made 

such  a  bun^lin^  business  of  it,  that  the  lock-man  swore 
11 


154:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

roundly  at  me,  and  insolently  asked  me  why  I  didn't 
"  go  out  as  nuss-gal."  I  treated  his  rude  criticisms  on 
my  driving  with  silent  contempt,  and,  after  repeated 
efforts,  succeeded  in  starting  my  horses  at  a  run  and 
snapping  the  tow-line.  Fortunately  for  me,  Captain 
Spoor  was  in  bed.  I  looked  at  Captain  Lamoreaux  in 
dismay.  He  was  laughing  heartily  at  my  dilemma,  and 
called  out  to  me  to  "  catch  the  broken  end."  It  was  long 
ago  at  the  bottom  of  the  canal,  as  he  well  knew.  He 
good-naturedly  came  ashore  and  helped  me  to  haul  in 
the  line.  He  spliced  it,  he  started  the  horses,  I  resumed 
the  reins,  and  he  jumped  on  board  again  to  resume  his 
charge  of  the  tiller. 

For  nearly  an  hour  I  trudged  on  bravely  behind 
my  team,  through  mud  four  or  five  inches  deep,  the 
bottoms  of  my  trousers  turned  up  half-way  to  the  knee, 
and  looking  quite  the  "  canawler."  I  fancied  that  I  was 
improving,  and,  as  I  had  only  another  half-hour's  driving 
before  me,  I  fondly  hoped  that  all  would  go  "  merry  as 
a  marriage-bell." 

Alas  for  the  futility  of  all  human  calculations !  A 
fearful  pitfall  was  awaiting  me.  I  was  about  to  expe- 
rience a  disastrous  humiliation  and  to  become  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  the  laughing-stock  of  our  crew.  In 
my  inexperience,  I  had,  on  leaving  the  lock,  most  un- 
wisely placed  myself  on  the  canal  side  of  the  tow-line. 
If  ever  I  go  canalling  again,  that  error,  at  least,  will  never 
be  repeated.  We  came  up  to  a  low  building  on  the 
edge  of  the  towpath,  the  stone-wall  of  which  was  cov- 


LIFE  ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL.  155 

ered  with  one  of  those  enormous,  highly-colored  posters, 
portraying  roaring  lions,  crouching  tigers,  trampling 
elephants,  famished  hyenas,  etc.,  with  which  proprietors 
of  traveling  menageries  delight  to  ornament  the  blank 
walls  in  towns  and  villages  in  advance  of  their  coming, 
in  order  to  properly  stimulate  the  circus-loving  appe- 
tite. No  sooner  did  my  outside  horse  catch  sight  of  it, 
than  he  swerved  on  to  the  other  horse,  nearly  knocking 
him  into  the  canal.  He  w^as  more  successful  with  me. 
The  stiffly-tightened  tow-line  caught  me  "amidships" 
and  sent  me  writh  a  tremendous  jerk  bodily  into  the 
canal. 

In  my  flurry,  I  struck  out  for  the  first  bank  I  caught 
sight  of  on  coming  to  the  surface.  Fortune  never  be- 
friends one  in  such  a  predicament ;  and  it  w7as  not  till 
I  was  standing  on  terra  firma  and  wTas  looking  down 
at  my  dripping  clothes  that  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  was  on  the  heel-path — the  wrong  bank  of  the 
canal.  There  wras  nothing  for  it,  as  there  was  no  bridge 
in  sight,  but  to  take  a  header  and  swim  to  the  right 
side.  With  any  but  pleasing  anticipations  of  my  bath, 
for  a  cold  wind  was  blowing,  I  plunged  in  and  managed 
to  regain  my  straw  hat  as  I  swam  across.  I  was  a  pit- 
iable object  as  I  clambered  up  the  opposite  bank ;  but 
our  crew  and  two  or  three  mule-drivers  did  not  see  me 
in  that  light.  I  was  received  wTith  derisive  cheers  and 
laughter,  and  many  a  joke  was  passed  at  my  expense, 
our  captain,  half  convulsed  with  laughter,  joining  in 
the  badinage,  and  saying : 


156  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

"  Well,  you've  had  a  good  wash,  even  if  you  do  catch 
a  bad  cold." 

He,  however,  lent  me  a  pair  of  dry  trousers,  which 
he  fished  out  of  the  hold,  the  waist  of  which  was  under 
my  arms,  and  the  bottoms  of  the  legs  six  inches  above 
my  ankles.  There  was  also  about  eight  inches  to  spare 
in  the  waistband.  They  had  evidently  been  made  for 
some  skipper  with  very  short  legs,  who,  nevertheless, 
if  all  flesh  is  grass,  would  have  cocked  up  into  a  con- 
siderable-sized hay-stack. 

When  Captain  Spoor  heard  of  the  occurrence,  he 
laughed  sarcastically.  He  was  on  the  point  of  saying 
something  very  satirical,  I  know,  for  he  turned  his  quid 
about  in  his  mouth  two  or  three  times.  But  I  effect- 
ually stopped  him  by  asking  in  the  most  innocent 
manner  if  he  did  not  think  I  had  better  take  some 
pills,  to  avoid  the  risk  of  catching  cold.  He  gave  me 
a  suddenly-saddened  look,  and  gulped  back  his  rising 
satire. 

At  Holley,  twenty-five  miles  from  Rochester,  we 
passed  along  an  embankment  even  higher  than  that  at 
Buslmell's  Basin,  but  not*  nearly  so  long.  The  follow- 
ing evening  we  were  at  the  foot  of  the  celebrated  Hve 
locks  of  Lockport.  As  we  approached  them,  it  was  a 
question  whether  we  could  pass  another  boat,  so  as  to 
get  "  locked  up  "  first.  Captain  Spoor  jumped  ashore  to 
take  the  reins  from  the  driver,  and  I  followed  him.  He 
coaxed  the  team  along,  and  we  soon  began  to  gain,  much 
to  the  vexation  of  the  captain  of  the  forward  boat.    He 


LIFE   ON  THE  ERIE  CANAL.  157 

did  all  lie  could  to  make  us  run  into  him  ;  all  the  while 
calling  out : 

"  Have  a  care,  Cap ;  have  a  care !  Bob  Worsley 
wants  gentle  handling,  or  there'll  be  a  muss  on  the  tow- 
path." 

Captain  Spoor  looked  disdainfully  at  him.  "  Have 
a  care,  handle  him  gently!"  he  repeated  with  scorn. 
"  Everything  '  this  side  up,'  or  '  handle  with  care,'  now- 
adays. I  do  believe  I've  got  some  pig-iron  down  my 
middle  hatch  as  is  labeled  '  handle  with  care.'  " 

The  next  moment  we  were  within  the  regulation, 
fifty  feet  of  the  forward  boat,  and  it  had  to  make  way 
for  us.  Mr.  Worsley  wisely  held  his  tongue  as  we 
passed  him,  though  he  looked  ten  thousand  daggers  at 
us.  Captain  Spoor,  who  has  more  than  once  thrashed 
his  man  on  the  towpath,  also  said  nothing,  but  as  we 
went  on  he  said  to  me : 

"  That  chap's  the  sassiest  I  ever  corned  across.  He's 
so  fond  of  sass,  they  tell  me,  that  in  winter-time,  when 
he  ain't  got  no  boatmen  to  sass,  he  sits  at  home  and 
sasses  hisself." 

Every  thing  at  Lockport  is  splendidly  managed. 
We  were  only  twenty-eight  minutes  getting  through 
the  five  locks,  whereas  at  Newark  and  Brighton  we 
spent  ^Lve  or  six  hours  in  getting  through  a  less  number. 
From  Lockport  to  Pendleton,  the  canal  passes  through 
a  deep  cutting — the  first  part  cut  out  of  a  solid  bed  of 
rock.  At  Pendleton  we  entered  the  Tonawanda  Creek, 
an  almost  natural  canal,  which  runs  into  the  Niagara 


158 


THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 


River  at  Tonawanda.  From  Tonawanda  to  Buffalo,  we 
ran  parallel  with  the  Niagara  River,  a  distance  of  twelve 
miles,  from  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  It  was  as  magnificent  a  June  morning 
as  I  remember  ;  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  a  cool  breeze 
coming  from  Lake  Erie.  And,  when  I  bade  adieu  to  my 
friends  of  the  Admiral  in  the  slip  at  Buffalo,  the  glori- 
ous weather,  their  rough  and  ready  kindness,  and  Cap- 
tain Spoor's  humorous  eccentricity,  made  me  regrei?  that 
my  experiences  of  Life  on  the  Erie  Canal  had  come  to 

an  "end." 

"A.  P." 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE  TOMBS. 

How  distressing  and  yet  how  fascinating  it  is  to 
take  up  the  "  Life  of  John  Howard,"  or  the  "  Life  of 
Elizabeth  Fry,"  that  noble,  self-appointed  Quakeress 
missionary  to  the  squalid,  ignorant,  and  degraded  fe- 
male prisoners  of  Newgate  !  We  recoil  from  the  pict- 
ure of  the  fearful  scenes  in  which  they  mixed,  which 
they  encountered ;  but  we  follow  them  in  their  work 
of  humanity  with  love  and  reverence,  fascinated  by  an 
excellence  to  which  we  feel  we  cannot  reach.  Mentally 
we  kiss  the  hem  of  their  garments.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  enter  in  imagination  with  them  the  poor  crimi- 
nal's home.  I  say  poor,  for  I  sympathize  with,  though 
I  would  sternly  punish,  for  example's  sake,  all  those 
who  have  fallen  so  low — who  have  found  themselves 
face  to  face  with  a  temptation  which  their  better  na- 
ture was  not  strong  enough  to  resist.  But  there  is 
something  far  more  terrible,  far  more  impressive,  in  the 
reality.  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  stand,  surrounded  by 
prison-walls,  a  free  man  among  those  sighing  for  free- 
dom ;  not  a  criminal,  simply  because  the  tension  of 
temptation  has  never  yet  reached  the  snapping-point. 


160  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

As  the  strongly-barred  entrance-door  of  the  prison 
swings  heavily  back  on  its  hinges  and  you  step  within 
the  well-watched  precincts,  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether 
the  sensibilities  expand  or  contract.  The  expansion 
and  contraction  is,  perhaps,  alternate,  like  the  varia- 
tions of  pulsation  when  the  circulation  is  fevered  yet 
feeble.  A  pain-giving  civil  war  is  raging  between 
brain  and  soul :  the  heart,  rallying  together  all  the 
forces  of  its  sympathy ;  the  brain,  shrinking  from  the 
coming  contemplation  of  that  most  terrible  example  of 
humanity — the  man  whose  hand  is  indelibly  stained 
with  the  blood  of  his  fellow.  The  tread  of  the  foot  is 
unconsciously  softened  as  you  approach,  for  the  first 
time,  the  cell  of  the  murderer ;  the  voice  is  involunta- 
rily hushed  and  subdued,  as  though  you  were  entering 
the  house  of  death.  Passing  on  along  the  tiers  of  cells 
and  standing  face  to  face,  side  by  side,  with  the  perpe- 
trators of  every  form  of  crime,  the  feeling  of  oppression 
grows  and  deepens,  and,  though  it  is  long  before  the  in- 
fluence can  be  altogether  shaken  off,  the  first  gush  of 
the  pure,  bright,  free  air  is  unspeakably  welcome  when 
you  pass  out  of  the  prison's  gloomy  portals.  It  seems 
to  sweep  a  load  of  care  from  the  shoulders,  while  the 
prospect  of  returning  once  more  to  the  busy  hum  of 
natural,  unrestrained  life  adds  greatly  to  the  sensation 
of  relief. 

I  have  been  in  the  bagnes  at  Brest,  and  have  seen 
the  muzzles  of  the  cannon,  loaded  with  grape-shot,  let 
into  the  walls  of  the  dormitories,  so  that  any  insurrec- 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE   TOMBS.  161 

tion  may  be  literally  mowed  down.  I  have  seen  the 
wretched  forqats  of  the  galleys  of  Toulon.  I  have 
read  that  devilish  inscription,  "  Who  enter  here  leave 
hope  behind,"  which  seems  to  be  the  religions  creed  of 
the  French  police  system — and  which,  to  the  nation's 
disgrace,  has  been  imported  to  this  country.  But,  to 
stand  in  a  convicted  and  sentenced  murderer's  cell,  to 
touch  his  hand — the  hand  of  a  fellow-creature — to  hear 
his  voice,  and  to  know  that  that  voice  will,  in  a  few 
short  hours,  be  hushed  forever  by  the  most  awful  of 
unnatural  deaths,  and  to  falter  as  to  the  necessity  of 
the  punishment — that  form  of  punishment — sinks  all 
else  into  insignificance  and  is  overwhelming  in  its 
agonizing  depression.  Once  I  have  passed  through  this 
ordeal.  Once  only  has  the  duty  of  chronicling  the  so- 
called  vindication  of  the  majesty  of  the  law  been  im- 
posed upon  me.  I  will  beg  my  bread  from  day  to  day 
before  I  again  witness  such  a  scene.  And  yet  they  told 
me  that  this  poor  fellow  had  made  his  peace  with  God ; 
that  he  was  entirely  fitted  to  enter  the  dread  presence 
of  his  Maker ;  in  fact,  that  he  was  about  as  perfect  a 
human  being  as  was  then  on  earth.  At  the  very  mo- 
ment they  had  wrought  him,  by  prayer  and  fasting, 
into  the  invaluable,  they  proceeded  ruthlessly  to  render 
him  valueless.  I  can  only  echo  Hamlet's  exclamation  : 
"  Oh,  horrible  !  most  horrible  !  " 

The  elder  Dumas,  Edgar  Poe,  and  all  the  writers 
of  romance  whose  expression  of  thought  bears  on  the 
terrible  and  awesome,  have  never,  in  any  one  of  their 


162  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

works,  described  the  scene  to  be  witnessed  in  the  corri- 
dors  of  a  prison  on  the  eve  of  a  great,  non-political, 
public  execution.  Solomon,  the  great  English  painter, 
presented,  perhaps,  the  most  telling  pictures  of  criminal 
life  in  his  "  Waiting  for  the  Verdict "  and  "  The  Ac- 
quittal." But  even  his  defty  brush  and  facile  imagi- 
nation, much  as  they  have  gloried  in  the  picturing  of 
touching  scenes,  such  as  this  "  Waiting  for  the  Ver- 
dict," and  other  marvelous  conceptions,  of  a  kindred 
character,  have  never  yet  dared  to  venture  on  the  de- 
piction of  the  Waiting  After  the  Verdict.  And  yet, 
what  a  harrowing  scene,  how  crowded  with  life  and 
pathos  it  is,  as  the  weeks  shorten  into  days,  and  the 
days  shorten  into  hours,  and  those  hours  rush  away 
as  though  they  would  hasten  to  throw  the  veil  of 
charity  over  the  sad  tragedy  and  its  painful  remem- 
brances ! 

There  in  the  corridor  sit  the  weeping  relatives,  the 
loving  wife  whose  heart  is  breaking,  the  nearly  or- 
phaned children  of  the  man  who  is  about  to  die — or, 
rather,  to  be  legally  killed  ;  endeavoring  all  the  while 
to  bear  up  lest  their  weakness  should  disturb  his  last 
few  hours,  or  interfere  with  his  religious  devotions.  To- 
day they  lovingly  clasp  him  in  their  arms  and  shower 
tears  upon  his  cheek  as  they  press  their  lips  to  his.  On 
the  morrow  they  will  speak  of  his  body  as  it. 

Holy  men,  in  the  fullness  of  their  sympathy  for 
erring  humanity  and  in  their  eagerness  to  obey  their 
gospel  mission,  and  give  one  word  of  religious  counsel 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE   TOMBS.  1G3 

which  may  add4to  his  soul's  welfare,  wait  silently,  trust- 
fully, patiently,  for  one  half-hour's  interview. 

Holy  women  wedded  to  the  Church,  the  brides  of 
Christ,  the  sorrowers  with  those  that  mourn,  the  re- 
joicers  with  those  that  rejoice,  creep  silently  through 
the  prison-gates,  which  open  at  their  bidding,  and,  amid 
every  outward  mark  of  respect,  hurry  to  the  cell  of 
him  whose  peace  with  God  is  their  only  solicitude ; 
trusting  that  their  ministering,  their  kindly  offices,  the 
very  aweing  solemnity  of  their  self-sought  lives,  may,  at 
least,  do  some  little  good,  may  soothe  one  pang,  may, 
under  God's  blessing,  help  him  on  the  rough  way  which 
the  law  ordains  shall  be  his  only  path  to  heaven. 

The  wardens  give  their  orders  in  an  undertone;  the 
keepers  shuffle  silently  about  in  the  fufilllment  of  their 
duties,  and  when  compelled  to  shut  a  door  do  so  soft- 
ly ;  and,  when  compelled  to  speak  do  so  in  whispers. 
Even  the  wretched  occupants  in  the  other  cells  of  the 
corridor  have  little  appetite  for  their  prison-fare,  and 
peer  through  their  grated  doors  with  an  air  half  of  sub- 
dued curiosity,  half  of  pained  sympathy,  when  their 
rowdy  visitors  inquire  under  their  breath,  "  Which  is 

poor 's  cell  ? "  and  shudder  as  their  eyes  follow  the 

direction  which  their  imprisoned  friend  gives  them  with 
his  finger. 

Ah  !  it  is,  indeed,  a  sight  to  make  women  weep  and 
strong  men  feel  how  weak  they  are.  It  is  a  sight 
against  which  Nature  rebels,  aud  which  memory  for- 
ever most  unwillingly  stores  up. 


161  THE  AMATEUK  VAGABOND. 

All  this  I  have  seen,  and  more.  I  have  stood  by 
the  fatal  drop  and  shivered  while  I  watched  the  one- 
time strong  but  now  weak  man,  in  his  last  agony,  liv- 
ing his  last  moment,  breathing  his  last  breath,  mutter- 
ing his  last  prayer,  and  then — dying  like  a  dog  ! 

It  so  happened  that  I  had  a  slight  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  the  reverend  father  who  was  the  spiritual 
adviser  and  director  of  the  condemned  man  in  the  case 
to  which  I  have  referred.  On  going  to  the  prison  late 
in  the  evening  of  the  day  previous  to  that  appointed 
for  the  execution,  to  learn  if  any  respite  for  delaying 
the  carrying  out  of  the  sentence  (application  to  the 
Governor  of  the  State  had  been  made  to  that  effect) 
had  been  received,  I  learned  from  the  clerk  of  the  pris- 
on that  the  father  was  then  with  the  condemned  man. 
I  sent  my  card  to  the  cell,  with  an  intimation  that  I 
would  like  to  see  the  father  and  would  wait  for  him 
in  the  prison  reception-room.  To  my  surprise,  I  received 
a  message  from  the  prisoner  himself,  requesting  me  to 
accompany  the  bearer  of  the  message  to  his  cell.  I 
was  a  little  disconcerted ;  for  even  my  very  name  was 
previously  unknown  to  him,  and  I  only  knew  his  from 
the  fatal  notoriety  which  his  crime  had  given  to  it.  It 
was  by  no  means  an  introduction  which  I  courted,  as  I 
knew  it  would  make  me  a  participator  in  a  scene  for 
which  I  had  little  liking.  But  how  could  I  refuse  to 
hold  out  the  hand  of  human  fellowship  to  a  man  who 
had  professedly  made  his  peace  with  God  and  who  was 
so  soon  about  to  expiate  his  offense  in  so  terrible  a  man- 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE   TOMBS.  165 

uer  ?  It  was  with  a  chilled  sensation  at  my  heart  that 
I  followed  the  jailer  across  the  stone  court-yard,  in 
crossing  which  I  shivered  as  I  caught  sio-ht  of  the  hide* 

O  CD  CD 

ous  gallows,  all  ready  for  its  horrid  work  of  the  mor- 
row and  looking  ghastly  in  the  bright  moonlight,  and 
entered  that  part  of  the  Tombs  prison  in  which  Mur- 
derers' Row  is  located. 

On  entering,  I  found  myself  before  an  iron  railing, 
immediately  inside  of  which  was  a  keeper's  desk. 
Standing  at  this  desk  I  descried  my  friend  the  father, 
talking  to  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  whom  I  presumed 
to  be  one  of  the  keepers,  and  who  was  seated  at  the 
desk,  in  the  act  of  writing  a  letter.  The  man  turned 
to  me  with  a  sharp,  searching  glance  as  I  wished  the 
father  "  Good-evening."  It  was  the  condemned  man 
himself. 

He  was  a  man  of  the  average  height,  wiry  and  well 
built,  with  by  no  means  an  unprepossessing  face,  and 
an  intelligent  eye.  Certainly,  beyond  an  expression  of 
determination  around  the  mouth,  there  was  nothing  in 
his  appearance  to  lead  one  to  suppose  him  capable  of 
the  crime  of  murder. 

And  yet  he  had  committed  a  most  brutal  murder — 
one  long  brooded  over,  thoroughly  determined  on,  and 
done  in  cold  blood  when  it  was  done.  He  lay  in  wait 
for  his  adversary  and  deliberately  shot  him  to  death, 
firing  three  additional  shots  into  the  prostrate  and  in- 
animate body  of  his  victim,  in  order  to  make  sure  that 
the  foul  deed  was  fully  done. 


166  THE  AMATEUR    VAGABOND. 

There  was  in  his  appearance  and  general  demeanor 
ample  evidence  of  a  full  appreciation  of  his  awful  po- 
sition. As  he  extended  his  hand  to  me,  I  could  not 
but  notice  the  nervous  twitch  of  his  mouth.  And  the 
hand  was  cold  and  clammy,  although  it  was  the  height 
of  summer.  It  was  bony,  shrunken,  and  bloodless. 
His  face,  too,  was  hollow  and  wan ;  and  his  complex- 
ion had  assumed  that  soft,  refined,  and  waxen  appear- 
ance which  is  an  infallible  sign  of  intense  and  pro- 
longed mental  sorrow  and  suffering.  (He  had  been 
contemplating  his  end  for  nearly  two  years  in  his  soli- 
tary prison-cell !)  Before  he  spoke  he  passed  his 
parched  tongue  over  his  fevered  lips  and  rolled  it 
round  his  gums  and  teeth.  What  a  tell-tale  action  was 
that  of  the  internal  fever  and  agony  which  was  con- 
suming him ! 

At  last  the  words  came,  as  though  his  glued  tongue 
had  suddenly  been  released  from  a  control  which  was 
not  his. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? "  he  said,  with  a  courteousness 

of  manner  which  surprised  me.     "  Father told  me 

who  you  are,  and  I  thought  I  would  like  to  ask  you  to 
do  me  a  favor." 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  "  if  it  lies  in  my  power  to  do  so. 
What  is  the  nature  of  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  say  to-morrow  morning,"  rejoined  the 
poor  fellow,  slowly,  but  firmly  and  deliberately,  "  that 
I  regret  that  the  Governor  has  refused  my  appeal  for  a 
few  days'  respite  ?  " 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN   THE  TOMBS.  1G7 

A  moment's  pause. 

"  No  man,  young  and  strong,  likes  to  die.  No  man 
in  my  position  would  be  the  worse  for  a  few  more  days 
to  get  ready." 

Another  pause. 

"  Still,  I  shall  ascend  the  scaffold  to-morrow  perfect- 
ly prepared  to  die ;  and  I  believe  that  I  shall  go  to 
heaven." 

He  did  not  seem  to  see  the  direct  contradiction  in 
his  own  words  :  he  asked  for  "  a  few  more  days  to  get 
ready,"  yet  he  avowed  that  he  was  "  perfectly  prepared 
to  die."  But  a  dying  man's  words  are  beyond  the  pale 
of  criticism ;  so  I  took  no  further  notice  of  what  he 
had  said  than  to  promise  that  I  would  carry  out  his 
wishes. 

He  appeared  to  be  suffering  from  an  intolerable  op- 
pression. Every  minute  he  would  throw  out  his  chest 
and  expand  his  lungs  as  though  he  were  in  a  heavy, 
asphyxiating  atmosphere.  At  last  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  He  dashed  off  his  waistcoat  and  almost  tore 
his  shirt-collar  and  ribbon-tie  from  his  throat,  and,  fling- 
ing them  on  the  desk  before  him,  said  : 

"  Father,  it's  dreadful  close  here.  Let's  take  a  walk 
out  in  the  yard." 

Several  keepers  were  around,  they  offered  no  objec- 
tion, and  we  stepped  out  into  the  cool  evening  air  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  court-yard,  only  turn 
ing  at  the  upper  end  when  we  reached  the  foot  of  the 
gallows  itself.     I  shall  never  forget  that,  on  my  part, 


163  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

silent  walk.  I  listened  with  an  intentness  which  was 
irrepressible,  though  painful  to  a  degree,  as  that  doomed 
man  spoke  of  his  father,  his  mother,  and  his  sisters,  in 
tones  of  the  deepest  affection ;  told  how  he  loved  them, 
how  his  great  grief  now  was  the  sorrow  and  affliction 
they  must  ever  know — the  disgrace  attaching  to  his 
death.  His  father  and  mother,  he  thanked  God,  were 
old,  and  would  soon  be  taken  where  they  would  again 
be  happy.  But,  and  the  man  cried  out  at  the  anguished 
thought,  he  spoke  of  his  sisters  having  children,  of 
those  children  growing  up  to  learn  his  ignominious 
doom,  to  tell  it  again  to  their  children,  and  so  to  per- 
petuate  his  unhappy  memory,  and  said  that  the  bare 
thought  of  it  was  dreadful  to  him. 

"  As  soon  as  my  father  and  mother  and  sisters  are 
dead,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  be  utterly  forgotten.  And 
I  only  want  them  to  remember  me  in  their  hearts  and 
prayers.     I  don't  want  them  to  talk  of  me." 

Again  we  were  at  the  foot  of  the  hated  gallows. 
He  stopped  and  surveyed  it  from  top  to  bottom,  with- 
out any  perceptible  tremor  passing  through  his  frame. 
He  raised  his  hand  and,  pointing  to  the  pulley  over 
which  the  fatal  noose  would  run,  explained  its  action. 
There  was  no  bravado  in  his  manner,  no  assumption  of 
great  nerve.  He  spoke  quietly  and  simply,  with  a 
slightly  absent  air,  as  though  he  was  explaining  the 
mode  of  his  coming  death  as  much  to  himself  as  to  me. 
Presently  he  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and  said,  as  if  in 
deepest  pity  for  himself : 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE  TOMBS.  169 

"  This  is  an  awful  thing  I've  got  to  go  through  with 
tomorrow." 

Awful !  Good  God  !  I  was  trembling  like  an  as- 
pen-leaf at  the  knowledge  that  I  should  be  there  to 
see.  My  limbs  shook  under  me.  And  this  man, 
though  sad  and  sorrowful,  so  calm  !  I  could  not  speak. 
I  could  only  trust  he  would  at  once  walk  away.  The 
father  took  his  hand  to  lead  him  to  resume  his  walk. 
Again  he  paused  before  the  implement  of  death. 
Again  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  fatal  beam. 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  he  exclaimed,  with  sud- 
denly-aroused energy  and  with  a  slightly  dramatic 
tone.  "  No,  I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  he  repeated,  al- 
most fiercely.  "  It  is  the  damnable  disgrace  that  must 
attach  to  me  forever."  And  then  he  added,  more  calm- 
ly and  with  considerable  dignity  :  "  I  do  not  dread  the 

pain  of  the  thing  ;  I  do  not  dread  death.     Father 

and  the  Sisters  have  taken  that  all  out  of  me.  I  shall 
walk  to  the  scaffold  with  the  firm  conviction  that  God 
will  pardon  me,  and  that  will  help  me  to  go  there  like 
a  man.     But  it  is  horrible  to  know  that  the  world  will 

hereafter  always  speak  of  me  as  ' ,  the  man 

who  was  hung.'  It's  the  thought  of  that  that  grinds 
me  down." 

The  good  father  placed  his  arm  around  the  poor  fel- 
low's neck  and  caressed  and  soothed  him  with  kindly 
words.  The  unhappy  man  placed  his  arm  around  the 
waist  of  his  faithful  friend  and  thrust  his  other  arm  in 
mine,  and  we  resumed  our  walk.     His  arm  did  not 

12 


170  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 


tremble,  but  the  weight  of  his  body,  as  he  leaned  heavily 
upon  me,  told  me  how  great  was  his  weakness.  His 
very  action  in  seeking  the  support  of  my  arm — the  arm 
of  a  total  stranger — showed  how  great  was  his  craving 
for  sympathy  in  his  hour  of  need. 

A  few  more  turns  up  and  down  the  yard,  during 
which  the  father  spoke  touchingly,  feelingly  of  the  all- 
saving  power  of  the  Saviour  and  appealed  to  his  faith, 
his  manhood,  to  bear  himself  with  firmness  and  to  trust 
in  God  for  strength  at  the  last  moment,  and  he  was 
again  placid.  Having  thus  succeeded,  the  good  priest 
said : 

"  Now, ,  I  think  you  had  better  go  in."     And 

then  he  added,  naively,  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness : 
"  You'll  catch  cold  if  you  stay  out  here  any  longer 
without  any  thing  on.     It's  getting  very  damp." 

The  doomed  man  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the 
priest's  shoulder  and  smiled  as  he  said : 

"  I  don't  think  that'll  matter  much  by  this  time  to- 
morrow, father." 

The  father  tenderly  excused  himself  for  his  inad- 
vertence, and,  shaking  me  by  the  hand  as  they  wished 
me  good-night,  they  passed,  arm-in-arm,  into  the  prison. 

I  sped  across  the  court-yard  to  the  exit  of  the  jail,  a 
lump  in  my  throat  and  big  tears  welling  up  in  my  eyes, 
and,  as  I  slowly  wandered  home,  I  felt  that  that  man's 
features  were  indelibly  photographed  upon  my  brain. 
I  can  see  them  now  distinctly.  It  was  a  terrible  scene 
to  ponder  over.     I  could  not  even  make  an  effort  to 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE  TOMBS.  171 

shake  off  its  remembrance.  In  my  sleep,  that  night,  I 
stood  again  under  the  gallows,  and  the  scene  was  re- 
peated. Again  the  words  rung  in  my  ear,  "  This  is 
an  aw  fill  thing  I've  got  to  go  through  with  to-morrow." 
In  the  morning  my  first  waking  thought,  as  I  looked 
out  on  the  bright,  sunny  world,  was,  What  did  lie  think 
of  when  he  awoke  ?  Was  it,  "  This  is  an  awful  thing 
I've  got  to  go  through  with  to-day  ?  "  I  felt  it  to  be  so. 
It  was  an  awful  day  for  me. 

Breakfastless,  and  in  the  most  gloomy  and  sombre 
frame  of  mind,  I  wended  my  way  down-town  to  the 
Tombs  (0  fitting  name  !)  prison.  As  soon  as  I  reached 
the  neighborhood  I  fancied  I  could  read  on  the  face  of 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  I  saw — going  to  the 
execution.  Yes,  they  were,  many  of  them,  going  to  be 
present  in  a  certain  measure.  They  were  going  to  plant 
themselves  on  the  curbstone,  as  near  to  the  entrance  to 
the  Tombs  as  the  police  would  allow  them  to  station 
themselves,  and  then,  in  imagination,  to  feast  their  mor- 
bid love  of  the  horrible.  Have  they  not  illustrated 
publications  without  number,  which,  from  their  infancy, 
have  educated  them  in  the  mysteries  of  hanging  \  Can 
they  not  study  these  things  in  every  low  cigar-store 
window  and  from  the  covering  of  every  corner  news- 
stand ?  Of  course  they  can,  and  they  have  done  it.  The 
word  is  passed  out,  "  The  procession  has  formed."  They 
can  see  it  by  merely  closing  their  eyes  and  taxing  their 
ready  and  willing  memories.  Again  comes  the  word, 
"  He  is  under  the  drop,  and  the  last  prayer  is  being 


172  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

recited."     Yes,  tliey  know  all  about  it.     The  whole 
scene  is  before  thein.     They  would  like  to  know  how 
the  doomed  man  bears  himself — if  he  says  any  thing — 
if  he  has  made  any  confession.     But  they  control  their 
curiosity.     They  will  know  all  about  that  in  an  hour 
or  so,  and  they  are  content  to  wait.     Again  comes  the 
word,  "  The  rope  has  been  cut."     Ah  !  the  body  is  now 
dangling  from  the  fatal  beam.     The  heart  is  pumping 
with  mighty  efforts  to  keep  life  in  the  lump  of  nearly 
lifeless  clay.    But  all  to  no  purpose  ;  and  those  denizens 
of  the  kingdom  of  rum,  young  and  old,  the  child  of  in- 
fancy and  the  child  of  old  age,  alike  know  it.     They 
can  count  the  minutes  on  their  fingers  and  the  seconds 
in  their  heads  as  the  pulsations  of  the  legally-murdered 
man  grow  feebler  and  feebler.     They  can  tell  almost  to 
a  minute  when  the  doctors  will  begin  to  test  the  pulse 
at  his  wrist ;  they  know  how  soon  they  will  apply  their 
ears  to  his  chest  to  catch  the  still  faint  beating  of  the 
heart.     Yes,  they  know,  almost  to  a  certainty,  the  very 
moment  at  which  the  body  is  being  cut  down — the  work 
of  the  law  done,  the  legalized  avengement  on  the  taker 
of  human  life  completed.     They  know  all  this ;  they 
are  not  altogether  satisfied,  but  they  are  measurably 
contented.     Curses  on  the  men  who  have  taught  such 
things  to  children,  I  say  !    And  then — I  had  almost  for- 
gotten it,  but  trust  them  for  not  being  so  false  to  them- 
selves— they  can  at  least  crowd  around  when  the  hearse 
draws  up  to  the  prison  and  gaze  and  gloat  as  one  or 
two  weeping  relatives  superintend  the  removal  of  the 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  THE   TOMBS.  173 

body  to  its  final  resting-place.     "  Oh,  horrible  !    most 
horrible  !  "   It  is  all  horrible  together. 

As  I  neared  the  Tombs,  I  had  to  force  my  way 
through  the  crowd,  aided  by  a  warrant  to  act  as  a  dep- 
uty-sheriff at  the  execution.  I  was  an  official — I,  who 
hated  my  office  as  I  do  the  devil,  and  who  only  believe 
in  capital  punishment,  because  I  believe  in  carrying  out 
the  law  of  the  land,  even  if  that  law  be  wrong  in  theory 
and  monstrous  in  practice,  as  I  believe  hanging  to  be. 
Thus  does  one's  better  nature  fall  a  victim  to  the  neces- 
sity of  circumstances. 

And  inside  the  Tombs,  in  that  reception-room  which 
had  been  so  still  and  quiet  with  its  one  turned-down 
gas-light  the  night  before  !  It  was  only  a  better-painted 
picture  of  the  scene  outside.  A  motley  gathering,  in- 
deed !  And  all  carrying  in  their  hands  notes  of  invita- 
tion from  the  sheriff  of  the  city  and  county  of  New 
York,  which  were  edged  with  that  most  pharisaical  of 
hypocrisies — a  deep  black  border.  A  crowd  of  rum- 
smelling  politicians,  breathing  vengeance  against  the 
very  law  whose  vindication  they  had  come  to  witness  ; 
popular  lawyers,  whose  practice  is  entirely  confined  to 
the  lower  criminal  class,  in  velvet  jackets  and  vulgarly 
bedecked  with  diamonds ;  keepers  of  the  prison,  de- 
tailing the  events  of  the  night,  the  culprit's  (ah  !  that 
is  the  word  !)  demeanor  that  morning,  what  he  took 
for  breakfast,  his  last  words,  etc. ;  newspaper  reporters 
fidgeting  here  and  there,  jotting  down  notes  and  asking 
questions,  and  all  fearful  that  some  brother  of  their 


174  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

order  shall  write  a  more  sensational  account,  ransacking 
their  memories  for  the  horrors  of  previous  executions 
which  they  had  witnessed,  recalling  how  Jack  this  and 
Tom  that  had  died,  and  numbering  up  how  many  they 
had  seen  "  turned  off."  There  was  much  smoking,  much 
chatter,  some  laughter,  even  some  ribaldry :  but  there 
was  little,  if  any,  real  decency.  Some  few  behaved 
themselves  like  men,  in  a  way  befitting  so  solemn,  so 
awful  an  occasion  ;  but  they  were  the  exceptions. 

Suddenly  the  iron  gate-way  was  opened.  Every  one, 
anxious  to  obtain  a  good  position  from  which  to  view 
the  tragedy,  made  a  rush.  Left  to  the  last,  I  quietly 
passed  in,  was  recognized  by  a  police-captain,  and  was, 
without  desiring  it,  placed  in  a  position  for  which  many 
present  would  have  emptied  their  j)ockets  into  mine — 
provided  I  would  change  places  with  them. 

There  was  the  gallows,  as  I  had  seen  it  the  night 
before,  save  that  the  rope  was  now  dangling  from  its 
beam.  The  sunlight,  instead  of  the  moonlight,  was 
throwing  shadows  from  it  which  would  have  been  gro- 
tesque had  it  not,  in  itself,  been  so  revolting.  But  at- 
taches of  illustrated  papers  seemed  to  find  poetry  in  the 
gallows  and  its  shadows,  for  they  sketched  away  as 
though  their  lives  depended  upon  their  drawings.  Ah ! 
in  a  few  minutes  they  had  a  scene  more  than  difficult 
to  depict  before  them  !  Reporters  sharpened  their  pen- 
cils, jotted  down  hasty  notes,  and  looked  mysterious 
and  important.  And  then,  in  the  form  of  an  L,  there 
were  double  files  of  police,  stolid  and  apparently  in- 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING  IN  TEE  TOMBS.  175 

different.  Why  should  they  he  otherwise  ?  Was  not 
this  thing  stale  to  them  ?  Had  they  not  seen  it  a  dozen 
times  before  \ 

But  who  and  what  was  that  misshapen-looking 
wretch  who  kept  prowling,  owl-like,  about,  as  though 
he  hated  the  bright  sunlight  which  streamed  into  the 
court-yard  ?  He  gave  orders  to  the  police  ;  and  yet  he 
had  all  the  appearance  of  being  One  of  their  most  fre- 
quent and  troublesome  customers.  He  took  the  arm 
of  the  under-sheriff  and  whispered  confidentially  in  his 
ear ;  and  yet  his  dirty,  skinny  hand  was  no  fit  mate  for 
the  sheriff's  glossy  black  broadcloth.  He  dashed  off 
snatches  of  sentences  to  the  reporters  and  went  through 
a  pantomime  of  signs  to  the  artists.  He  stepped  on  to 
the  scaffold,  he  carefully  examined  the  iron  catch  of  the 
rope,  and,  instinctively,  I  knew  him.  He  was  that  most 
despicable  of  all  God's  creatures — the  man  who  makes 
his  living  by  killing  others.  Such  a  one  is  not,  like  the 
judge,  the  jury,  or  the  sheriff,  a  man  w^ho  has  a  public 
and  imperative,  however  painful,  duty  to  perform.  With 
him  this  is  not  so.  Hanging  is  his  chosen  walk  in  life — 
the  profession  he  has,  in  the  exercise  of  his  discretion, 
adopted.  See  how  he  handles  the  rope  !  Listen  to  him 
as  he  explains  the  mysteries  of  nooses  and  "  knots  under 
the  ear"  to  some  inquisitive  listener.  He  speaks  of  his 
success  as  a  public  hangman  with  pride.  He  is  no  un- 
skillful surgeon,  he  says.  He  never  hurts  his  patients. 
Bah  !  The  man  stinks  in  one's  nostrils  like  a  pestilence. 
As  I  watched  him,  I  felt  that  I  could  myself  almost  com- 


176  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

mit  murder  on  him  and  give  myself  fall  absolution  for 
the  deed.  I  did  bless  the  under-sheriff  when  he  beck- 
oned him  inside  the  prison  to  fulfill  his  other  horrid 
duties.     I  breathed  more  freely  as  he  disappeared. 

And  then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  cry  of  "  Hats  off !  " 
Every  man's  head  was  instantly  uncovered,  and,  before 
I  had  fully  comprehended  the  meaning  of  the  move- 
ment, the  last  act  of  the  terrible  drama  had  already  be- 
gun. Pressing  my  hand  against  my  side — for  my  heart 
was  beating  fearfully — unable  to  withdraw  my  fasci- 
nated gaze,  I  saw  and  witnessed  the  procession  of  death. 
First,  a  posse  of  deputy-sheriffs,  then  the  jail  officials, 
and  then — my  God  ! — supported  on  either  side  by  a 
priest,  the  man  with  whom  I  had  strolled,  arm-in-arm, 
the  night  before,  up  and  down  that  very  court-yard.  I 
knew  that  it  must  be  so.  But  the  reality  was,  never- 
theless, startling.  It  was  almost  unbearable.  I  had 
not  pictured  to  myself  the  horrible  accessories  of  death 
at  the  hands  of  the  law.  Pinioned,  bound,  the  fatal 
noose  around  his  neck,  the  repulsive  black  cap,  though 
not  yet  drawn  over  his  face,  on  his  head,  clutching  a 
crucifix  in  both  hands,  on  he  came,  slowly  but  with 
comparative  steadiness,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  emblem 
of  salvation  and  his  lips  moving  in  his  last  appeal  for 
mercy  in  the  world  to  come.  My  blood  literally  cur- 
dled at  the  sight.  I  would  have  sacrificed  any  thing  to 
have  been  a  thousand  miles  away  at  that  moment  or  to 
be  able  to  shut  out  from  my  vision  the  fearful  spec- 
tacle. 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING   IN   THE   TOMBS.  177 

"  Heavens !  can  I  not  liicle  my  eyes  ? "  I  mentally 
cried. 

No  !  It  was  impossible.  I  was  fascinated,  as  by 
some  magician's  influence.  I  must  look.  I  must  see 
the  thins;  out.     I  must  suffer. 

On  lie  came.  Hours  it  seemed  to  be  to  me — per- 
haps, poor  soul !  only  seconds  to  him — before  he  passed 
me.  And  then  he  sank  on  his  knees  on  the  platform 
of  the  gallows,  immediately  below  the  rope  which  was 
to  launch  him  into  eternity.  On  emerging  from  the 
prison  into  the  yard,  his  face  had  been  livid  in  color, 
while  his  hands  had  retained  their  natural  hue.  As  he 
passed  me  he  tried  again  to  moisten  his  fever-cracked 
lips  with  his  tongue.  As  he  knelt  under  the  gallows, 
and  while  the  priest  recited  the  prayers  for  the  dying, 
his  face  became  suffused  with  an  unnatural  color  and 
his  hands  turned  to  a  shade  like  unpolished  slate ;  at 
the  same  time  his  lower  jaw  was  constantly  working, 
and  there  was  an  incessant  though  irregular,  twitching 
of  the  eyelids.  I  saw  it  all.  I  could  not  help  it.  I 
could  no  more  have  taken  my  eyes  from  that  dying 
man  than  I  could  have  taken  his  place  under  the  gal- 
lows. 

And  then  there  was  a  hush ;  no  more  prayers,  no 
more  Amens  to  be  said ;  all  rose  hurriedly  to  their  feet, 
and  there  stood  that  poor,  trembling  creature  on  the 
very  brink  of  eternity  ! 

Gently,  aye  !  how  gently,  the  good  father  withdrew 
the  crucifix  from  his  hands,  placed  it  against  the  dying 


178  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

man's  lips,  which  fervently  pressed  it,  and  bade  him  his 
final  God-speed  on  his  great  journey. 

A  pause — only  a  little  pause,  during  which  the  still- 
ness was  oppressive,  crushing.  With  an  agonized  effort 
I  thrust  my  hands  over  my  eyes  ;  I  heard  a  dull,  heavy 
thud,  which  sent  the  blood  coursing  like  lightning 
through  my  brain,  a  sound  like  a  simmering  of  the  at- 
mosphere, as  all  gave  vent  to  their  bated  breath — and 
I  knew  that  the  curtain  had  fallen,  that  the  dire  trage- 
dy was  ended. 

After  a  while  I  ventured  to  look  up.  They  were 
all — doctors,  reporters,  and  politicians — crowding  round 
the  dangling  body,  speculating  as  to  whether  death 
had  been  caused  by  the  breaking  of  the  neck  cr  by 
strangulation.  They  were  tolerably  quiet,  and  most  of 
them  tried  to  look  solemn  ;  but  the  scene  really  had  as 
little  effect  on  the  majority  of  them  as  the  sight  of  a 
funeral  would  have  on  an  undertaker.  Familiarity 
with  such  scenes  had  had  its  unerring  effect.  They  had 
ceased  to  awe  and  horrify  them ;  they  only  aroused  a 
certain  amount  of  morbid  curiosity. 

Ah,  Voltaire  !  hated, .  maligned,  and  execrated  as 
you  are,  there  is  no  snare,  no  covert  danger,  nothing  in- 
sinuated with  art  and  subtlety,  in  this  thy  philosophy ! 
It  is  the  satire  of  truth,  clothed  in  the  garb  of  sim- 
plicity : 

"  Le  grave  magisVrat  qui  a  achete  pour  quelque  ar- 
gent le  droit  de  /aire  ces  experiences  sur  son  prochain 
va  conter  a  diner  a  safemme  ce  qui  s^est  passe  le  matin. 


STRING    'EM  UP.  179 

La  premiere  fois  madame  en  a  ete  revoltee,  a  la  seconde 
elle  y  a  pris  gout,  parce  qiCapres  tout  les  femmes  sont 
curieuses  ;  et  ensuite  la  premiere  chose  quelle  lui  dit 
lorsquHl  rent/re  en  robe  cliez  lui :  Mori  petit  coeur,  rfavez 
vousfait  donner  aujourd'hui  la  question  a  personnel  l 

"A.  P." 


STRING    'EM   UP. 

Of  all  the  arts  an'  siences,  an'  many's  mighty  cur'us, 

None  beats  me  hafe  so  bad  as  that  which  all  the  parsons  'sure  us 

Was  'vented  by  th'  Olmighty  in  a  defty  kin'  o'  way, 

Fer  gettiu'  rid  o'  them  whose  record's  slightly  orf  0.  K. 

This  cuttin'  throtes  an'  pisinin'  or  blowin'  folks's  brains  out, 
Then  sweepin'  up  an'  puttin'  straight  an'  washin1  all  the  stains  out, 
'S  a  pecul'ar  line  o'  bisness  wot  was  opened  up  by  Cain  ; 
But,  God  didn't  go  a  murd'rin'  him  to  set  things  slick  again ! 

With  judge  an'  jury,  prisin  grub,  an'  peddlers  o'  religi'n, 
The  ninteenth  cent'ry  makes  a  chap  as  harmless  as  a  pigi'n  ; 
An'  stuffs  him  fer  the  gallus  in  a  pious  sort  o'  way, 
Jes'  as  a  farmer  stuffs  his  turkeys  fer  Thanksgivin's  Day. 

"With  preechin',  prayin',  talkin'  to,  airly  an'  late  uprisin' 
(A  patint  systim  which  them  airthly  sents  calls  Christenizin') 
They  fits  him  so  fer,  'n  parson  slang,  the  soul's  Bethesda  Pool, 
That,  side  o'  him,  winged  Gabriel  'ud  look  a  puftick  fool. 

Bethesda  Pool !  a  kin'  o'  rinsin'  oilers  done  without  soap : 
Hung  out  to  dry  fer  hafe  an  hour  a  danglin'  from  a  stout  rope ! 
En  Watts's  Hymns  there's  one,  I  mind,  about  a  dirty  child — 
Jemminy !  wouldn't  this  gallus  washin'  jes'  hev'  med  him  riled  ? 

1  "  Torture"  from  the  Dictionnaire  Philosophique. 


160  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

See  here  now  !  Ef  the  streng-piece  of  a  feller's  soul's  not  level — 
•     Why  send  him  on  a  speshil  train,  without  breaks,  to  the  devil  ? 
An'  ef  yer've  med  him  spick-an'-span  like — I  don't  see  no  show 
In  shippin'  him  to  heav'nly  ports ;  there's  markets  here  below. 

The  punishment !  "Wheere's  thet,  tu,  ef  salvahsin's  univarsal, 
In  'xpressin'  him  straight  orf  to  wheere  he'll  find  it  pack  an'  parcel? 
An'  ef  there's  no  hereafter,  nor  no  heav'nly  courts  and  yards, 
Yer'e  like  the  child  wot  topples  down  the  house  it's  built  o'  cards. 

Now,  what  I  wunts  to  know's  jes'  this:  "When  chaps  hev'  git  a  thru'  pass 
To  heav'D,  wot's  the  hurry  fer  in  putt'n'  'em  under  blue-grass? 
The  angils  waitin'  at  the  gate's  got  'tarnity  ahead, 
An'  a  few  yeeres  more  or  less  o'  waitin'  wouldn't  kill  'em  dead. 

I  s'pose  the  gran'-trunk  line  o'  life's  run  on  a  lib'ral  tariff, 
An'  the  comp'ny's  Pres'dent  wouldn't  hev'  a  very  vi'lent  scare  if 
A  feller  let  his  pass  run  out  and  used  it  all  the  same — 
Them  cussed  souls'  conductors  'd  be  the  only  folks  to  blame. 

"A.  P." 


THE     MODEL     COSTERMONGER. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


THE   MODEL  COSTER-MONGER. 

"  My  friend,  can  I  say  a  word  or  two  to  you  \ "  said 
I  to  an  apple-vender,  who  was  wheeling  his  truck  in 
Chatham  Square,  one  Saturday  afternoon. 

He  was  a  short,  stubby,  pock-marked  specimen  of 
the  Milesian  race,  after  it  has  been  acclimated  in  this 
country  for  one  or  two  generations.  His  apples,  too, 
had  as  many  speckles  on  them  as  he  had  pits  on  his 
cheeks  and  nose,  and  his  hand-truck  was  about  as  di- 
lapidated as  his  pantaloons — pieced  and  patched  in 
every  part. 

He  stopped,  looked  me  hard  in  the  face,  and  replied : 
"  Well,  I  guess  you  may." 

I  hesitated,  hardly  knowing  how  to  propound  to 
him  my  business.  He  picked  up  an  apple  and  began 
rubbing  it  violently  on  his  coat-sleeve ;  but  that  apple 
was  never  fitted  by  Nature  to  take  a  polish.  It  was 
only  a  penny  apple,  and  apples  never  shine  under  two 
cents.  He  saw — he  must  have  known  beforehand — 
the  willfulness  of  that  apple,  and,  just  as  I  was  ready 
to  begin,  he  again  disconcerted  me  by  viciously  re- 
marking: : 


182  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

11  Come,  git  up." 

Thinking  I  knew  the  weakness  of  the  genus  apple- 
vender,  I  suggested  that  we  should  retire  to  some  quiet 
symposium  where  drinks  are  sold. 

"  The  fact  is,"  I  said,  "  I  have  a  little  business  to 
propose  to  you." 

I  was  wrong.  The  apple-vender  eyed  me  up  and 
down,  whistled  an  artistic  whistle,  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  then  threw  himself  into  an  attitude. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  The  matter !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Well,  if  that  ain't 
the  thinnest  job  I  hearn  on  for  a  long  spell." 

Having  so  far  delivered  himself,  he  seized  the  han- 
dles of  his  truck,  and  then,  peering  cautiously  around, 
added  :  "  Me  just  steps  aroun'  the  corner  along  o'  you, 
your  pal's  aroun'  t'other  corner  with  the  barrow,  and 
out  o'  sight  when  I  comes  back ;  and  when  I  goes  to 
look  arter  you — why,  you've  stepped  out  at  the  side- 
door.     'T  won't  do  !     What  d'you  take  me  for." 

Without  deigning  to  say  another  word  or  even  to 
look  at  me  again,  he  pushed  straight  across  the  square 
to  the  Bowery,  leaving  me  feeling  very  small  and  chap- 
fallen  on  the  Chatham-Street  sidewalk.  "  Well,"  I  solil- 
oquized, "  this  is  a  bad  beginning ;  but  there  are  plenty 
of  other  coster-mongers  in  New- York  City."  Neverthe- 
less, if  they  were  all  to  be  as  suspicious  as  this  fellow, 
I  felt  that  I  should  not  easily  accomplish  my  object;  I 
therefore  determined  to  be  more  cautious,  and,  after 
hanging  around  Chatham  Square  for  half  an  hour,  I  de- 


THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  183 

scried  an  apple- vender  coming  along  East  Broadway 
who  had  a  more  confiding  look  about  him.  I  ap- 
proached him  as  though  merely  sauntering  along,  and 
then  stopped  suddenly,  as  though  I  had  but  that  mo- 
ment noticed  him,  and  inquired  the  price  of  his  apples. 
I  bought  one  for  two  cents,  and,  pulling  out  my  pocket- 
knife,  leisurely  proceeded  to  peel  it.  He  seated  him- 
self on  one  of  the  handles  of  his  truck  and  seemed 
rather  tickled  with  the  care  with  which  I  peeled  the 
apple.  He  asked  me  if  I  was  "  afeared  of  the  cholery- 
niorbis,"  and  almost  went  into  a  fit  over  his  astonish- 
ment when  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  not  know  how 
many  years  had  passed  since  I  last  ate  an  apple.  He 
turned  out  to  be  a  talkative  Irishman.  He  came  from 
the  County  Tyrone.  Of  course,  I  had  friends  there, 
and  we  were  soon  on  confidential  terms.  I  imparted 
to  him  my  business  and  who  I  was.  He  laughed 
heartily,  but  promised  to  give  me  all  the  assistance  in 
his  power.  That  assistance  partly  consisted  in  robbing 
me  of  nearly  one  dollar;  on  which  dollar,  I  have  no 
doubt,  he  succeeded  in  getting  gloriously  drunk  the 
next  day  (Sunday)  on  Sixth- Ward  rum.  Our  confer- 
ence ended  by  a  mutual  agreement  to  meet  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Chambers  and  Pearl  Streets,  at  half-past  six 
o'clock  that  evening. 

Punctually,  at  the  hour  agreed'  upon,  I  was  at  the 
appointed  trysting-place,  and  there  stood  my  apple- 
merchant.  He  did  not  know  me  at  first,  and  no  won- 
der.    I  was  arrayed  far  more  after  the  style  of  Lazarus 


18±  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

than  in  the  traditional  glory  of  Solomon.  A.  coat  and 
pantaloons  which  had  seen  much  service,  and  which 
were  patched  till  they  looked  like  a  cottage-quilt ;  a 
scarlet-flannel  shirt,  and  a  greasy  old  billy-cocked  hat, 
had  disguised  me  as  thoroughly  as  I  could  wish.  My 
"  get-up  "  had  that  "  devil-me-care  "  look  about  it  ex- 
pressed in  the  old  lines  : 

"  I  care  for  nobody,  no,  not  I ; 
And  nobody  cares  for  me." 

My  votary  of  St.  Patrick  declared  that  he  could 
hardly  believe  his  own  eyes,  and  paid  me  the  dubious 
compliment  of  assuring  me  that  I  made  a  splendid  cos- 
ter-monger. I  was,  however,  little  inclined  to  talk,  for 
I  wanted  to  get  to  business.  I  examined"  the  stock  in 
trade  which  he  had  provided  for  me  (for  I  had  hired  the 
man's  truck  and  was  going  "  a-peddling  "  on  my  own 
account),  and  received  instructions  as  to  the  prices  at 
which  I  was  to  sell.  I  had  apples,  pears,  and  bananas, 
and  the  capital  invested  was  four  dollars  and  a  half,  in 
addition  to  the  one  dollar  and  a  half  I  had  agreed  to 
pay  for  the  hire  of  the  barrow. 

I  asked  particularly  about  the  best  cruising-grounds 
for  apple-peddlers,  and  received  instructions  to  make 
all  headway  for  the  Bowery  Theatre  first,  it  being  Sat- 
urday night — a  night  on  which  all  the  elite  of  the  boot- 
black and  newsboy  world  make  a  point  of  going  to  the 
play,  but  not  without  having  previously  filled  their 
pockets  with  apples  in  order  to  wile  away  the  time 
intervening  between  the  acts. 


THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  185 

Having  obtained  all  necessary  information  on  this 
point,  I  seized  the  handles  of  my  barrow  with  as  much 
sang  fro  id  as  I  could  assume,  and  started  up  Chambers 
Street  at  a  pace  which  I  soon  found  it  desirable  to 
slacken.  On  looking  round,  there  stood  my  Hibernian 
with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  staring  at  me  with  his 
eyes  and  mouth,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  thinking  me  a 
harmless  lunatic.  But  there  were  breakers  ahead,  and 
my  whole  attention  was  soon  concentrated  on  myself 
and  the  driving  of  my  barrow. 

Let  any  one  study  the  topography  of  Chatham  Street, 
between  Chambers  Street  and  the  square,  and,  taking 
into  consideration  the  number  of  cars  passing  either 
way  in  that  narrow  gorge,  think  of  the  difficulty  of 
wheeling  a  heavily-laden  fruit-truck  through  the  tor- 
tuous maze  for  the  first  time.  In  turning  the  corner  I 
took  the  curbstone  sharply,  and  at  least  a  dozen  apples 
went  rolling  into  the  gutter.  I  picked  them  all  up,  and 
was  just  in  time  to  see  two  boys  stealing  off  with  two 
or  three  apples  apiece  which  they  had  purloined  from 
the  truck.  I  felt  it  was  worse  than  useless  to  give  chase 
and  comforted  myself  with  the  hope  that,  as  they  were 
fearfully  green  apples,  the  boys  would  suffer  accordingly. 
I  started  down  the  incline,  and  never  did  I  curse  any 
thing  in  my  life  as  I  did  that  apple-cart !  It  was  as  diffi- 
cult to  pilot  along  as  a  mud-scow  in  a  strong  current. 
The  rough  cobble-stones  wouldn't  let  it  go  straight.  It 
seemed  as  difficult  to  drive  as  a  pig.  It  headed  straight 
for  cars  coming  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  made 

13 


186  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

frantic  efforts  to  get  on  to  the  sidewalk.  The  car- 
tracks,  of  course,  made  matters  ten  times  worse,  and  I 
expected  every  moment  to  see  the  head  of  that  barrow 
turn  round  and  stare  me  in  the  face,  like  a  jibbing  tan- 
dem-leader. A  Third -Avenue  conductor  swore  horribly 
at  me  for  getting  in  his  way,  and  the  driver  shrieked 
like  a  cat.  I  have  traversed  glaciers,  with  their  awful 
crevasses,  I  have  made  the  great  rush  through  the  sti- 
fling vapors  of  Vesuvius ;  I  have  been  on  runaway  horses, 
I  have  been  lost  in  forests,  I  have  been  in  terrific  gales 
on  the  ocean,  but  never,  in  my  life,  did  I  feel  so  thank- 
ful on  getting  out  of  a  tight  place  as  I  did  when  I 
reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  Chatham  Square 
is  located.  Here  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  my  bar- 
row to  indulge  in  all  sorts  of  vagaries  without  the  al- 
most  certainty  of  my  being  run  over ;  it  could  have 
gone  through  an  entire  circus  performance  if  it  had  a 
mind  to  do  so  without  much  risk  of  coming  into  collision 
with  other  vehicles.  And,  here,  too,  I  could  re»^t  a  mo- 
ment ;  for  the  jarring  on  the  wrists  and  elbows  caused 
by  the  jolting  over  the  cobble-stones  was  any  thing  but 
pleasant. 

For  two  or  three  minutes  I  leaned  half-abstractedly 
against  my  barrow,  wondering  how  on  earth  I  had  trav- 
ersed that  mauvais  pas.  I  was  recalled  to  myself  by  a 
man  throwing  down  two  cents,  picking  up  an  apple,  and 
walking  off.  A  large  card  on  the  end  of  a  thin  iron  rod 
informed  the  public  that  my  apples  were  for  sale  at  the 
moderate  price  of  two  cents  each.     This  little  incident 


THE   MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  187 

put  me  oil  the  qui  vive  in  a  moment,  and  I  recollected 
that,  if  I  wanted  to  go  into  the  Bowery-Theatre  trade, 
I  must  "hurry  up"  as  fast  as  I  could.  By  dint  of  a  lit- 
tle dodging,  I  got  across  to  the  left-hand  side  of  the 
Bowery  and  again  found  myself  in  a  narrow,  crowded, 
and  difficult  passage.  But  my  guardian  angel  had  sta- 
tioned another  apple-peddler  in  front  of  me,  and,  by 
keeping  close  on  his  heels,  I  kept  clear  of  the  many 
Bcyllas  and  Charybdises  which  beset  me  on  every 
side. 

No  sooner  did  I  get  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
of  the  theatre  than  I  had  the  most  corroborative  evi- 
dence of  the  truth  of  what  my  Irishman  had  told  me 
as  to  the  lucrative  trade  to  be  driven  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. There  were  several  other  barrows  besides  mine 
to  supply  the  public  demand,  but  the  boys  poured 
along  so  thick  and  so  fast  and  were  in  such  a  hurry  to 
get  to  the  entrance  before  the  gallery-door  opened,  that 
they  bought  their  apples  where  they  could  be  most 
quickly  served.  It  seemed  to  be  a  great  joke  with  them 
to  carry  an  apple  in  their  hand,  and  then,  pretending 
to  steal  one  from  another  barrow,  to  have  a  laugh  at 
the  angry  proprietor  by  compelling  him  to  confess  that 
the  apple  was  not  and  never  had  been  his  property. 
They  played  this  joke  on  me  two  or  three  times  before 
I  found  it  out.  After  that  I  countered  on  them  by  say- 
ing, "  That  won't  do,  bubby ;  I  don't  sell  such  measly 
apples  as  that." 

We  were  all  driving  a  fine  trade — that  is,  we  apple- 


188  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

sellers — when  an  officer  came  up  and  ordered  us  all  to 
move  on.    I  soon  discovered  that  this  did  not  cause  the 
disastrous  stoppage  of  my  business  which  I  had  antici- 
pated.    The  law  allows  a  licensed  vender  to  stop  on 
the  street  so  long  as  he  is  making  sales,  and  compels 
him  to  keep  moving  at  other  times.     But  the  law  does 
not  state  at  what  pace  the  licensed  vender  is  to  keep 
moving,  and,  naturally,  the  licensed  vender  keeps  moving 
at  the  pace  which  best  suits  himself — a  little,  but  a 
very  little,  faster  than  that  of  a  snail.    The  consequence 
was  that,  by  the  time  I  worked  up  to  the  theatre-doors 
the  play  had  begun,  the  business  was  over  for  the  even 
ing,  and  my  heap  of  apples  had  sensibly  diminished 
Still  I  had  sold  very  few  pears  and  only  one  banana 
This  was  a  grievous  disappointment  to  me,  as,  of  course 
bananas  are  an  expensive  stock  to  lay  in.     I  had,  how 
ever,  wisely  made  a  bargain  with  my  Irishman  that  he 
should  take  my  remaining  stock  off  my  hands  at  two- 
thirds  of  the  cost  price — that  is,  if  I  had  any  stock  re- 
maining at  midnight ;  and,  as  I  had  possession  of  his 
truck  and  owed  him  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  the  hire  of 
it,  I  felt   tolerably  certain   of  retiring   from  business 
without  any  serious  diminution  of  capital. 

On  leaving  the  theatre  I  struck  across  the  Bowery, 
and  got  into  East  Broadway,  selling  an  apple  or  pear 
here  and  there,  sometimes  two  or  three  at  a  time ;  and 
once,  in  East  Broadway,  I  sold  five  bananas  to  a  party 
of  German  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  almost  threw  them 
back  on  my  hands  because  I  had  no  paper  bag  to  put 


THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  189 

tliem  in.  But  the  ladies  were  not  to  be  done  out  of 
their  bananas,  so  they  retired,  peeling  and  eating  them 
as  they  walked  along. 

Gradually  I  worked  down  toward  Chatham  Square 
again,  and,  at  the  corner  of  Oliver  Street,  a  gentleman, 
with  whom  I  am  well  acquainted,  but  whom  I  had  not 
met  for  nearly  a  year,  paused  in  his  walk  as  though 
waiting  for  a  car.  The  gas-lamp  showed  me  who  he 
was,  and  I  at  once  vociferously  importuned  him  to  buy 
some  apples. 

u  I  don't  want  any  apples,"  he  said,  in  a  somewhat 
surly  tone. 

"  Surely,"  I  rejoined,  "  you'll  buy  an  apple  of 

,  for  old  times'  sake  ?  " 

He  was  round  by  my  side  in  a  moment.  "  Good 
God ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Has  it  come  to  this,  old  fel- 
low ?  I  knew  the  world  hadn't  used  you  over-well ; 
but  this  is  terrible.  I  always  told  you  that  that  news- 
paper and  writing  business  was  no  good.  Where  one 
succeeds,  five  hundred  fail;"  and  then  he  added,  with- 
out pausing,  "  What  is  your  poor  wife  doing  \  " 

This  was  more  than  I  bargained  for,  and  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  preserve  my  self-possession.  "  Oh, 
my  wife's  all  right,"  I  replied,  in  as  off-hand  a  manner 
as  I  could  at  the  moment  assume. 

"  Is  she  ? "  he  rejoined,  with  a  soupeon  of  sternness 
in  his  tone  ;  "  you  seem  to  take  it  tolerably  coolly,  con- 
sidering all  things." 

I  laughed — a  jarring  kind  of  laugh,  and  said :  "  Well, 


190  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

you  buy  ten  cents'  worth  of  apples,  and  I'll  give  the 
money  to  my  wife." 

He  picked  out  the  apples  and  laid  down  a  ten-cent 
stamp,  which  I  immediately  pocketed.  Mind,  I  say  he 
picked  them  out,  although  he  supposed  he  was  buying 
them  for  charity's  sake.  But  this  little  lache  was  evi- 
dently unintentional — probably  the  result  of  habit,  or 
of  not  thinking  of  what  he  was  doing — for  the  next 
moment  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  said, 
warmly : 

"  Say,  old  boy,  can't  I  do  something  for  you  beyond 
buying  ten  cents'  worth  of  apples  ? " 

This  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  I  grasped  his 
hand  and  told  him  the  true  state  of  affairs.  At  first, 
he  seemed  a  little  vexed  ;  but  in  another  moment  he 
was  laughing  heartily,  and,  emptying  his  pockets  on  to 
the  barrow,  exclaimed : 

"  Confound  your  apples !  give  me  back  my  ten 
cents." 

This  I  absolutely  refused  to  do.  I  explained  to  him 
that  we  had  made  a  contract ;  that  that  contract  had 
been  fulfilled  by  both  the  contracting  parties,  and  that 
there  was  an  end  of  all  transactions  between  us  when 
he  took  his  apples  and  I  received  my  money.  To  this 
argument  he  responded  by  giving  me  a  ferocious  dig  in 
the  ribs,  and,  on  learning  that  I  was  temporarily  leading 
a  bachelor  life,  by  making  me  swear  by  my  household 
penates  that  I  would  dine  with  him  at  seven  o'clock  the 
following  evening.     To  this  arrangement  I  readily  as- 


THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  191 

sented,  and,  in  response  to  an  order  to  "  git,"  from  an 
officer  who  Lad  been  watching  ns  from  the  other  corner, 
I  took  a  turn  down  Oliver  Street,  taking  considerable 
pleasure  in  walking  as  slowly  as  I  could  drag  one  leg 
after  the  other. 

Of  one  thing  I  soon  became  convinced  when  I  got 
among  the  back  streets — an  apple-vender  ought  to  be 
like  a  potato  ;  he  should  have  eyes  all  over  him.  One 
of  a  crowd  of  boys  will  pick  up  an  apple  at  the  head 
of  the  barrow  and  give  a  ten-cent  stamp  in  payment. 
This,  of  course,  necessitates  the  peddler  going  to  the 
head  of  the  barrow,  too,  and  then  fumbling  in  his  pocket 
for  change.  In  the  mean  time,  the  remainder  of  the 
crowd  make  a  raid  on  the  other  end  of  the  barrow  and 
are  lost  to  sight  among  the  innumerable  surrounding 
alleys  before  he  can  turn  round.  Of  course,  the  "  stool- 
pigeon  "  protests  that  he  has  no  acquaintance  with  any 
of  them ;  and,  as  the  unhappy  peddler  wheels  off  in 
search  of  more  profitable  peddling-grounds,  a  chorus  of 
groans  and  jeers,  and  often  a  bit  of  apple-rind,  or  even 
part  of  an  apple,  salute  him  from  all  sides.  There  is 
no  help  for  it.  He  has  to  grin  and  bear  it.  At  least, 
I  know  I  had  to  do  so  several  times  during  my  one 
experience  in  the  coster-mongering  line  of  business. 

Not  liking  the  neighborhood,  I  once  more  turned  in 
the  direction  of  Chatham  Square,  and  took  a  turn  up 
Division  Street.  Here  I  met  with  an  unlooked-for  mis- 
fortune. In  getting  out  of  the  way  of  a  hack-carriage 
which  was  coming  rapidly  down  the  street,  I  caught  the 


192  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

wheel  of  my  truck  in  the  hind- wheel  of  a  grocery-wag- 
on which  was  drawn  up  for  the  night  in  front  of  its 
proprietor's  store.  I  tugged  and  tugged  away ;  but  the 
light  spring-wagon  came  forward  at  every  tug,  and  the 
wheels  seemed  to  be  wedded  together  for  life.  At  last 
I  succeeded  in  tugging  the  barrow  and  the  grocery- wag- 
on almost  at  a  right  angle  across  the  street. 

Of  a  certainty,  an  officer  would  appear  at  that  un- 
lucky moment,  and  he  did  appear.  Instead  of  offering 
to  help  me  out  of  my  difficulties,  he  asked  me  "how 
the  hell  "  I  had  managed  "  to  get  into  that  muss."  He 
declared  I  was  drunk,  pushed  me  back  with  his  club, 
and  said  he  would  "  take  me  in,"  if  I  didn't  "  keep 
quiet,"  and  "  have  my  license  taken  away." 

Heavens  alive  !  He  could  have  knocked  me  down 
with  a  feather,  without  taking  the  totally  unnecessary 
trouble  of  using  his  club.  For  the  first  time  it  occurred 
to  me  that,  though  driving  a  licensed  vender's  truck,  I 
was  not  the  licensed  vender.  Penalty — fine  and  im- 
prisonment, or  both,  in  the  discretion  of  the  magistrate. 
Visions  of  ten  days,  or  maybe  three  months,  on  the  Isl- 
and took  possession  of  my  brain,  and  drove  every  drop 
of  moisture  in  my  body  through  the  pores  of  the  skin 
in  cascades  of  cold  perspiration.  I  had  committed  an 
actual  offense  against  the  law ;  unintentionally  I  had 
defrauded  the  municipal  revenue.  That  officer  had  ray 
liberty  in  his  keeping  and  didn't  know  it. 

What  was  I  to  do  ?  The  officer  himself  answered 
my  agonized  mental  inquiry. 


THE  MODEL  COSTER-MONGER.  193 

"  What  are  you  standin'  starin'  at  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
after  he  had  tried  for  at  least  two  minutes,  and  had 
made  himself  purple  in  the  face  in  doing  so,  to  separate 
those  two  loving  wheels. 

I  thought  it  wiser  not  to  remind  him  that  he  had 
driven  me  away  with  his  club,  and  immediately  set  to 
work  to  help  him.  As  soon  as  he  tugged  at  the  wagon 
and  I  tusked  at  the  barrow  the  thin^  was  done — as  the 
conjurers  say,  with  "  no  preparation,  no  mechanique." 
How  thankful  I  was  when  that  officer  told  me  to  be 
off  and  not  to  dare  to  show  myself  again  on  his  beat 
that  night,  I  need  hardly  attempt  to  express.  He 
could  have  locked  me  up  as  legally  and  as  nicely  as 
possible  had  he  but  known  that  I  had  no  license,  and, 
had  he  only  known  who  I  was,  he  would  certainly  have 
experienced  unusual  pleasure  in  consigning  me  to  limbo 
in  one  of  his  station-house  cells.  My  gratitude  to  him 
was  too  deep  for  expression. 

I  hurried  down  Chatham  Street — at  that  time  of 
night  no  difficult  thing  to  do — and  to  my  joy  found 
my  Irishman  waiting  for  me  in  Chambers  Street,  as  he 
had  promised.  He  was  rather  drunk — just  sufficiently 
so  to  be  dishonest.  He  appraised  my  remaining  stock 
far  below  its  value  ;  but  I  would  not  allow  him  to  re- 
move it  till  he  had  paid  over  the  money.  While  he 
was  carrying  in  the  things  in  baskets  I  revenged  my- 
self by  robbing  him  of  eight  apples — all  my  jacket- 
pockets  would  hold — which  I  distributed  a  few  min- 
utes after  to  some  gentlemen,  who  pronounced  them 


194  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

"  excellent,  most  excellent."  My  stock  in  trade  cost  me 
four  dollars  and  a  half,  which,  added  to  the  hire  of  the 
barrow,  made  my  outlay  six  dollars.  My  sales  amount- 
ed to  two  dollars  and  forty-eight  cents.  Of  this  sum  I 
calculate  that  at  least  two-thirds  was  clear  profit.  Had 
my  Irishman  acted  honorably  he  should  have  given  me 
two  dollars  and  forty-six  cents  for  my  surplus  stock. 
The  scoundrel  would  not  give  me  more  than  one  dollar 
and  a  half — just  what  I  had  to  pay  him  for  his  truck. 
Thus,  my  balance-sheet  showed  a  dead  loss  of  two  dol- 
lars and  two  cents,  exclusive  of  the  eight  apples  which 
I  filched  from  the  truck.  My  case  is,  of  course,  an  ex- 
ceptional one,  on  account  of  the  heavy  charges  for  hire 
of  the  barrow,  and  the  loss  incurred  by  the  forced  sale 
of  my  stock.  Take  it  all  in  all,  however,  I  don't  think 
apple-peddling  is  a  very  paying  business.  It  certainly 
would  not  support  a  large  family  in  comfort  and  gen- 
tility. 


DOWN  IX  A   COAL-MINE. 

To  my  mind,  one  of  the  most  vexatious  of  nuisances 
is  the  modern,  street-boy,  who,  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  self-conrplacency,  stolidity,  and  stupidity,  expressed 
in  his  ugly  countenance,  seems  to  know  no  pleasure 
in  life  but  whistling,  as  loudly  as  he  can,  the  latest 
new  popular  melody  (so  called),  varied  with  an  occa- 
sional howl  and  cat-call,  and  who  only  draws  his  idle 
hands  from  his  at  other  times  empty  breeches-pock- 
ets when  he  desires  to  insert  his  two  little  finders  in 
his  mouth  and  to  produce,  by  their  agency,  that  aw- 
fully shrill  and  excruciating  whistle,  which  is  his  only 
mode  of  saluting  an  acquaintance  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  I  have  always  marveled  at  the  taste  of  the 
poetical  songster  who  immortalized  "The  Curly-head- 
ed, Whistling  Plowboy,"  but  have  hitherto  excused  his 
folly  on  the  supposition  that,  in  his  day,  there  was  no 
"  Shoo-fly,"  no  "  Up  in  a  Balloon,"  no  "  Captain  Jinks," 
and  a  hundred  other  similar  musical  monstrosities  to 
jar  on  his  ear,  and  destroy  his  peace  of  mind.  But, 
of  late,  I  have  grown  more  charitably  disposed  toward 
this  gentleman's  memory ;  for,  for  the  last  few  months, 


196  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  whistling  street-boy  has  so  dinned  "  Down  in  a 
Coal-Mine  "  into  my  ears,  and  has  appeared  to  find  such 
exquisite  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  "  digging  dusty 
diamonds  underneath  the  ground,"  that  he  at  last 
awoke  me  to  the  fact  that  I  had  never  yet  been  down 
in  a  coal-mine.  It  was  humiliating  to  think  that  the 
thoughtless  butcher-boy,  who  every  morning  brings  the 
tender  chop  or  the  juicy  kidney  for  my  breakfast,  should 
evince  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  a  subject  of  such 
importance  as  coal-mining,  and  I  know  nothing  about 
it.  Like  the  wretched  bein^  whom  Punch  took  off  in 
"  A  Swell's  Homage  to  Mrs.  Stowe,"  I  made  a  virtuous 
resolution.  Bored  beyond  endurance  by  "  ev'wy  gal  he 
asked  to  dance  "  demanding  his  opinion  about  the  dif- 
ferent characters  in  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  the  swell 
petulantly  exclaimed : 

"  A'll  study  at  some  Wagged-School 
The  tale  of  that  old  Blackamaw  !  " 

I  exclaimed :  "  I'll  go  '  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine,'  and 
at  least  raise  my  store  of  geological  information  to  the 
level  of  that  of  the  common  street-boy." 

Almost  boiling  over  with  this  most  virtuous  and 
praiseworthy  intention,  I  stowed  myself  and  valise 
aboard  the  cars  of  the  Central  Railroad  of  New  Jersey, 
and  in  five  hours  was  dumped  (I  believe  that  is  the 
correct  technical  term  in  the  coal-regions)  at  Mauch 
Chunk,  one  of  the  principal  coal-mining  districts  in  the 
Lehigh  Valley  anthracite  region. 

As  the  guide-book  writers  say,  Mauch  Chunk  "  is  a 


DOWN  IN"   A   COAL-MINE.  197 

place  of  some  importance,"  especially  in  the  admiring 
eyes  of  Mauch-Chunkers.  There's  a  name  to  go  to  bed 
with  !  All  the  dwellers  in  that  mountain- walled-in  vil- 
lage, from  the  high  and  mighty,  headed  by  Asa  Packer, 
down  to  the  colored  boy  who  blacks  your  boots  at  the 
Mansion  House  Hotel,  delight  to  speak  of  their  part 
of  the  Lehigh  Valley  as  "  the  Switzerland  of  America." 

As  I  looked  from  my  window  on  to  the  snow-clad 
and  precipitous  sides  of  the  mountains,  with  their  bare 
stumps  and  sparsely-scattered  pines,  and  listened  to  the 
rush  of  the  Lehigh  Kiver,  there  was  undoubtedly  some- 
thing about  the  scene  which  ini^ht  call  to  mind  the  love- 
ly  valleys  which  the  railroad  skirts  between  Basel  and 
Olten  Junction,  on  its  way  to  Lake  Lucerne.  But  it  is 
all  what  a  Frenchman  would  call  very  much  en  minia- 
hire — the  coarser  Yankee  would  characterize  it  as  "  one- 
horse,"  and,  while  thinking  of  it  and  Switzerland  in  the 
same  connection,  there  is  an  uncontrollable  impulse  to 
exclaim  that  Nature  must  have  laid  out  Mauch  Chunk 
as  the  hydrographers  do  our  maps  and  surveys — so 
many  inches  to  the  square  mile. 

Some  twelve  or  fourteen  years  ago  I  encountered  a 
perfect  specimen  of  the  disagreeable  type  of  Yankee — 
noisy,  inquisitive,  boastful,  vulgar,  and  nouveau  viclie  to 
a  degree — in  a  spot  where  he  certainly  would  not  have 
been  sought  for  by  any  enthusiastic  ethnologist  desirous 
of  studying  his  peculiarities.  It  was  at  St.  Morlaix, 
one  of  those  pleasantly-quaint  old  French  towns  of  Brit- 
tany which  are  a  feature  of  the  Cote  du  JVbrd.     He 


198  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

had  landed  at  Havre ;  turned  up,  he  knew  not  how,  at 
Brest ;  seen  that  "  first-class  fraud  "  at  Carnac — the 
Druidicai  remains  of  the  army  of  pagans,  who  were  in- 
tending to  make  mince-meat  of  St.  Corneille  and  his 
Christian  followers  at  the  very  moment  they  were 
themselves  converted  into  stone ;  wondered  why  in  hell 
people  should  go  and  live  in  a  place  like  Quimper; 
nearly  sworn  himself  hoarse  at  the  diligence,  its  jolt- 
ings and  the  hard  cushions  of  its  rotonde,  which  had 
brought  him  to  St.  Morlaix ;  and,  being  in  that  inter- 
esting little  place,  was  very  mad  to  think  that  he  must 
stay  there  for  the  night.  His  contempt  for  it  and  its 
comically  narrow  streets  was  unbounded,  and,  after  the 
table-cPlwte  dinner  wTas  over,  I  left  him  addressing  a  lit- 
tle knot  of  astonished  but  still  polite  Frenchmen,  who 
did  not  understand  a  word  he  was  saying  on  the  sub- 
ject.    The  last  words  I  caught  were  : 

"  Call  this  a  town  !  Why,  I've  been  using  the  par- 
lor on  the  other  side  of  the  street  for  a  spittoon,  and  if 
its  back- window  was  only  open  I  should  have  used  the 
yard.  I  was  obliged  to  ;  there's  no  room  to  spit  in  the 
street." 

Well,  at  Mauch  Chunk,  where  the  Lehigh  Valley 
sweeps  in  a  horseshoe  round  Bear  Mountain,  and  nar- 
rows almost  into  a  gorge,  which  can  hardly  be  five  hun- 
dred feet  across  at  its  base,  there  is  the  feeling  that  Na- 
ture has  been  what  modern  artists  call  "  a  little  skim- 
py," and  has  made  the  valley  just  a  soupcon  too  nar- 
row.    You  have  to  look  up,  at  the  risk  of  cricking  the 


DOWN  IX  A  COAL-MINE.  199 

nape  of  your  neck,  in  order  to  catcli  a  glimpse  of  the 
sky.  An  active  scliool-boy  could  throw  a  stone  from 
one  side  of  the  valley  to  the  other  with  ease ;  and 
every  inch  of  intervening  space  is  occupied.  Into 
that  narrow  gorge  are  crowded  a  line  of  buildings,  a 
sidewalk,  a  street,  the  Lehigh  &  Susquehanna  Railroad, 
the  Lehigh  River,  the  Lehigh  Canal,  the  Lehigh  Valley 
Railroad,  and  yourself.  If  that  is  not  making  much 
out  of  little,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  would  be.  It  is 
certainly  a  praiseworthy  example  of  economy  of  space. 

But  paved  streets,  canals,  railroads,  and  coal-cars, 
valuable  as  they  are  in  themselves,  do  not  make  so  pict- 
uresque a  foreground  to  the  opposite  mountain  as  do 
the  rich,  bright-green  pasture-lands — perfect  parterres 
of  wild-flowers,  as  they  are — the  winding  paths,  the 
rustic  cottages  and  bridges,  the  pretty  peasant-girls,  the 
cows  and  goats  of  the  Swiss  valleys.  Nor  is  coal,  in 
spite  of  its  aristocratic  alias — black  diamonds — a  fasci- 
nating object  to  rest  the  eye  upon,  when  it  is  piled  in 
enormous  heaps,  or  is  on  its  way  to  New  York  or  Phila- 
delphia in  endless  trains  of  grimy  cars. 

Still,  though  the  Lehigh  Valley,  at  Mauch  Chunk, 
cannot  claim  to  compare  with  such  grandly  magnificent 
valleys  as  Chamounix  and  Grindelwalde,  it  nevertheless 
presents  a  very  striking  prospect,  and  is  most  deservedly 
visited  by  numbers  of  pleasure-seekers.  The  view  from 
the  top  of  Mount  Pisgah  alone  well  repays  a  journey 
to  Mauch  Chunk. 

Like  the  gentleman  who  thought  that   there  was 


-200  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

nothing  like  leather,  Mauch  Chunk  thinks  that  there  is 
nothing  like  coal.  Coal  is  king  here.  Not  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Old  King  Cole  of  history,  who  "  called 
for  his  pipe,  and  called  for  his  glass,  and  called  for  his 
fiddlers  three ; "  but  after  a  plain,  practical,  work-a-day 
fashion.  The  village  was  built  on  coal  by  means  of 
coal ;  and  all  those  who  are  not  connected  with  the 
coal -mines  or  the  coal-carrying  railroads  and  canal,  make 
their  living  by  supplying  those  who  are,  with  the  ne- 
cessaries and  luxuries  of  life  and  are,  too,  just  as  ac- 
tively alive  to  the  merits  of  high  and  low  prices  of  coal 
in  New  York  and  Philadelphia  as  the  mine-owners,  and 
feel  the  effects  of  a  strike  among  the  miners  and  labor- 
ers as  severely  as  the  strikers  themselves.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  religious  citizens  of  Mauch  Chunk  de- 
voutly pray  for  cold  weather,  privately  in  their  inmost 
souls  if  not  publicly  in  their  churches,  just  as  the  farm- 
ers pray  for  fine  or  wet  weather,  according  as  their  crops 
need  sun  or  rain. 

Could  I,  then,  have  chosen  a  more  favorable  spot  for 
acquiring  the  knowledge  of  which  I  was  in  search  ? 

But  the  celebrated  Switch  Back  Railroad,  which 
travels  over  the  mountains  to  the  coal-mines,  is,  after 
coal  itself,  the  great  and  chief  glory  of  Mauch  Chunk. 
The  hotels  and  store-windows  present  it  to  you  from 
every  photographic  point  of  view,  from  carte-de-wisite 
size  upward.  The  hotel-clerk  notices  the  direction  of 
your  glance  as  you  lay  down  the  registration-pen,  and 
at  once  remarks  in  an  offhand  tone  as  if  replying  to  an 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  201 

unasked  question,  "  The  Switch  Back,  sir."     In  the  din- 
ing-room your  next  neighbor,  perhaps  only  a  twenty- 
four  hours'  visitor  himself,  asks  you  if  you  have  done 
"  the  Switch  Back."     In  the  street,  if  you  are  looking 
for  some  particular  store,  the  ubiquitous  small  native 
is  sure  to  ask  you  if  you  want  to  go  to  "  the  Switch 
Back  "  Railway-depot,  and,  before  you  have  time  to  re- 
ply, kindly  offers  to  escort  you  thither  for  the  trifling 
remuneration  of  ten  cents.     A  New- York  Arab  would 
demand  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  the  same  ser- 
vice.    People  talk  about  Mount  Pisgah  till  they  give 
the  uninitiated  stranger  the  impression  that  they  have 
traveled  in  the  Holy  Land ;  and  speak  of  traveling  over 
it  at  a  rate  of  eighteen  miles  an  hour  without  steam 
horse,  or  any  other  motive  power,  till  said  stranger 
thinks  that  they  are  escaped  lunatics  or  have  left  all 
their  wits  at  a  wool-gathering  party  on  the  shores  of 
the  Dead  Sea.     At  last,  in  self-defense,  he  determines 
to  investigate  this  famous  Switch  Back,  sees  in  a  mo- 
ment how  the  milk  got  into  the  cocoa-nut,  and  has  a 
very  enjoyable  morning's  ride  of  a  very  novel  and  pe- 
culiar character. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from  the  hotel  up  a 
very  steep  incline — the  beginning  of  the  ascent  of  Mount 
Pisgah — brought  me  to  a  small  shanty  building  which 
is  dignified  with  the  name  of  the  Mauch  Chunk  and 
Summit  Hill  Railroad  Depot,  where  some  half  a  dozen 
blue-nosed  mechanics  were  indulging  in  a  war-dance  in 
their  desperate  fight  with  the  cold,  nipping  air,  while 

14 


202  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

waiting  for  the  train.  The  train  consisted  of  one  small 
car,  about  the  size  of  a  one-horse  street-car,  and  no  sooner 
did  the  brakenian  release  the  brakes  than  it  started 
from  its  own  weight  down  a  slight  decline  for  a  distance 
of  two  or  three  hundred  yards  to  the  foot  of  the  plane, 
which  runs  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain. 

On  this  plane  a  double  track  is  laid  with  a  ratchet- 
rail  in  the  centre.  As  soon  as  the  passenger-car  arrived 
at  the  bottom  of  the  plane,  the  safety-car,  something 
like  a  heavily-constructed  trolly,  with  side  apparatus 
for  working  on  the  ratchet-rail,  came  up  behind  it,  and, 
drawn  up  the  plane  by  two  broad  iron  bands  working 
over  a  steam-power-driven  drum  at  the  top,  propelled 
the  passenger-car  before  it  at  an  astonishingly  high  rate 
of  speed,  taking  into  consideration  the  fact  that  the  rise 
in  the  grade  is  664  in  2,322  feet,  or  very  nearly  one  in 
three.  Should  the  iron  bands  happen  to  snap,  the  safety- 
car  is  immediately  caught  by  the  ratchet-rail,  and  so 
firmly  held  that  retrogression  of  the  cars  is  impos- 
sible. 

The  view  from  the  top  of  Mount  Pisgah,  which  is 
nearly  fourteen  hundred  feet  above  tide- water,  is  very 
fine.  The  surrounding  valleys  of  Bloomingdale,  Pan- 
ther Creek,  and  Nesquehoning,  stretch  away  to  the 
west ;  to  the  east  lie  the  Lehigh  Valley,  Lehigh  Gap, 
and  the  Blue  Mountains  ;  while,  running  from  the 
mountain-side  down  into  the  Panther-Creek  Valley,  the 
enormous  mountains  of  slate  and  dirt  brought  out  of 
the  mines,  the  collections  of  three-quarters  of  a  century, 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  203 

give  one,  with  their  covering  of  snow,  the  idea  of  minia- 
ture glaciers. 

Leaving  Mount  Pisgah,  the  weight  of  the  car  was 
again  its  motive  power,  and  the  slight  decline  in  the 
grade  carried  it  at  the  speed  of  eighteen  miles  an  hour 
to  Mount  Jefferson,  a  distance  of  six  miles  and  one  fur- 
long— the  total  fall  between  the  two  points  being  only 
302  feet.  Another  plane,  similar  in  construction  to 
that  running  up  Mount  Pisgah,  and  2,070  feet  in 
length,  carried  the  car  up  to  the  top  of  Mount  Jeffer- 
son, whence  a  nearly  level  run  of  one  mile  brought  us 
to  Summit  Hill,  the  point  from  which  all  the  Lehigh 
Coal  and  Xavigation  Company's  mining  operations  are 
directed,  and  the  point  from  which  I  was  to  start  in 
order  to  carry  out  my  heroic  resolution  of  going  Down 
in  a  Coal-Mine. 

Gentle  reader,  in  sober  earnest  I  earned  out  that 
rea  >lution  ;  but,  take  my  advice,  let  nothing  tempt  you 
to  follow  my  example.  Of  all  the  difficult,  costly,  and 
unpleasant  ways  of  acquiring  knowledge,  exploring  a 
coal-mine  should  head  the  list.  Here  is  my  schedule  of 
direct  and  indirect  damages  : 

One  nearly  new  silk  hat  and  one  pair  of  kid- 
gloves,  utterly  ruined  ;  one  pair  of  trousers,  one  pair  of 
boots,  and  one  overcoat,  seriously,  almost  irretrievably, 
damaged  by  coal-dust,  mud,  and  water;  a  serious 
though  temporary  enlargement  of  the  cranium,  a  vio- 
lent cold,  and  an  attack  of  rheumatism  in  prospective. 

To  my  cost,  I  have  discovered  that  the  words  of  the 


204:  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

•seductive  melody  of  "  Down  in  a  Coal-Mine,1'  convey  a 
very  false  impression ;  and,  as  I  have  passed  through 
the  agony,  I  philanthropically  propose  to  give  my  ex- 
perience to  the  world,  in  the  hope  that,  in  the  language 
of  the  late  Mr.  William  Barlow,  of  pious  memory,  all 
"  young  fellows  "  will  "  take  warning  by  me." 

Five  or  six  inches  of  "  beautiful  snow  "  lay  on  the 
ground,  and  the  cold  almost  froze  my  cigar  to  my  lips, 
when  I  stepped  out  of  the  car  on  the  top  of  Summit 
Hill,  and  wended  my  way  to  the  office  of  the  company. 
The  superintendent  of  the  mines  had  very  kindly 
placed  one  of  his  engineers  at  my  disposal,  and  a  boy 
was  in  waiting  to  escort  me  to  his  grimy  presence. 

"  Oh,  you  be  the  man  what's  going  into  number 
eight  ? "  remarked  the  lad  in  an  inquiring  tone. 

I  told  him  that  if  "  number  eight "  was  a  mine,  he 
was  correct. 

He  smiled  a  scoffing  smile  at  my  unsophisticated 
ignorance,  and,  saying,  "  Come  on,  then,"  led  the  way 
through  the  snow  at  an  unusual  pace  for  a  boy.  I  sup- 
pose mining-boys  don't  take  things  as  leisurely  as  other 
boys  do. 

On  we  tramped  through  the  snow,  over  the  moun- 
tain and  along  the  valley,  passing  through  villages, 
where  the  miners'  wives  and  children  all  stared  at  me  as 
though  I  were  an  Apache  Indian,  snarling  curs  without 
number  snapped  at  my  heels,  and  occasional  bits  of 
coal  whizzed  by  me  in  a  fashion  to  lead  me  to  suppose 
that  I  was  the  target  at  which  they  were  aimed,  though 


DOWN  IX  A  COAL-MINE.  205 

whenever  I  turned  round  to  ascertain  whether  this  was 
so  or  not,  all  the  little  boys  were  looking  the  other  way. 
Their  unanimity  of  action  was  certainly  suspicious. 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  mine,  we 
had  walked  two  miles  and  my  boots,  stockings,  and 
the  lower  parts  of  my  trousers,  were  saturated  with 
snow-water.  I  found  that  the  entrance  of  the  mine  was 
at  the  end  of  a  long  tunnel,  the  bed  of  which  was  laid 
with  a  car-track  six  inches  deep  in  slush,  with  a  shallow 
stream  of  running  water  on  one  side.  On  inquiry,  we 
learned  that  the  engineer  was  in  the  mine.  The  boy  at 
once  produced  a  small  oil-lamp,  something  like  a  toy  tin 
coffee-pot,  the  spout  doing  duty  as  a  wick-tube.  He  lit 
his  lamp  at  an  enormous  fire,  which  was  burning  at  the 
entrance  of  the  tunnel,  and  around  which  half  a  dozen 
miners,  who  looked  like  the  chimney-sweeps  of  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  ago,  stood  warming  themselves.  Each 
of  them  had  a  similar  lamp  attached  by  a  hook  to  the 
front  of  his  hat.  They  regarded  me  with  an  air  of 
pity,  but  maintained  a  gloomy  silence.  Turning  up  the 
bottoms  of  my  trousers,  I  followed  my  guide  and  dashed 
boldly  into  the  tunnel. 

In  a  few  moments  I  was  in  darkness  as  black  as 
that  which  the  Egyptians  of  old  found  so  unpleasant, 
a  darkness  which  the  slight  glimmer  from  the  boy's 
lamp  only  rendered  more  puzzling.  And  presently  I 
heard  the  rumbling  of  cars  and  the  shouting  of  mule- 
drivers  approaching  us ;  and  whether  they  were  ten 
feet  or  a  hundred  yards  off  it  was  impossible  to  say. 


206  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

In  a  few  moments  I  almost  ran  against  a  man,  whose 
lamp  I  did  not  see  till  he  was  within  four  or  five  feet 
of  me,  and  who  told  me,  with  an  oath,  to  stand  aside. 
Stand  aside  !  Yes.  But  where  ?  There  was  no  help 
for  it  but  to  step  boldly  into  the  stream  at  my  side, 
and  quietly  stand  in  the  water  till  the  train  of  cars  had 
passed.  I  comforted  myself  by  thinking  that,  as  I  was 
already  thoroughly  wet-footed,  the  ordeal  was,  after  all, 
not  so  very  trying  a  one,  and  I  resignedly  stepped  into 
the  water. 

Again  we  started,  I  sticking  to  my  boy  like  a  fright- 
ened child  holding  on  to  the  skirts  of  its  mother's  dress 
in  a  crowd  and  muttering  curses,  deep  though  not  loud, 
against  the  springs  of  water  in  the  rock  above,  which 
deluged  me  with  a  perfect  shower-bath,  and  trickled 
playfully  down  my  back,  as  though  I  were  a  naiad  dis- 
guised in  male  costume,  and  they  were  paying  me  a 
very  welcome  compliment. 

At  last  we  reached  the  end  of  the  tunnel  and  the 
opening  of  the  mine,  and  I  was  duly  introduced  to  Mr. 

,  the  engineer,  by  my  guide.     He,  too,  had  one  of 

the  small  lamps  stuck  on  the  front  of  his  hat.  I  shook 
hands  with  a  man  I  could  scarcely  see,  and  who  seemed 
to  have  a  head-piece  like  a  rising  full-moon,  with  a  thick 
haze  round  it,  so  peculiar  is  the  effect  of  these  dim 
lamps  on  the  eyes  of  those  unaccustomed  to  coal-mine 
life. 

This  gentleman  explained  to  me  the  meaning  of 
slopes,  lifts,  and  gangways,  before  he  began  to  show 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  207 

me  around.  A  slope  is  the  plane  on  which  cars  are 
hauled  np  and  let  down ;  the  lifts  are  like  the  floors  of 
a  house,  one  below  the  other,  to  which  the  slopes  are 
staircases,  as  it  were.  The  gangways  are  side-passages 
leading  to  different  parts  of  the  lift. 

The  engineer  also  explained  to  me  the  mystery  of 
"  breasts."  This  making  of  "  breasts  "  is  a  very  profit- 
able though  dangerous  operation  to  the  miner  and 
requires  an  old  and  skilled  hand.  The  miner,  as  far  as 
I  understand  it,  cuts  a  gallery  from  the  gangway  a  cer- 
tain distance  into  the  vein,  and  then  begins  to  mine  out 
a  large  chamber,  only  removing  sufficient  coal  to  enable 
him  to  work  with  ease,  and  using  'the  remainder,  as  he 
picks  it  from  above,  as  a  constantly-ascending  platform 
to  enable  him  to  reach  his  work.  The  exposure  to  the 
atmosphere  causes  the  coal  to  emit  a  cracking  noise,  but, 
when  the  chamber  becomes  so  large  that  the  superin- 
cumbent weight  of  coal  is  likely  to  give  way,  the  sound 
of  the  cracking  is  slightly  different.  This  difference 
the  practised  ear  of  the  old  miner  can  detect,  and  he  at 
once  retires  to  more  safe  quarters,  waiting  patiently  till 
the  mass  of  coal  above  falls.  Sometimes  he  has  only 
to  wait  a  few  hours,  sometimes  for  days ;  but  sooner  or 
later  down  comes  an  enormous  mass,  breaking  up  as  it 
falls,  and  the  miner  often  gets  out  coal  enough  to  oc- 
cupy himself  and  laborers  a  long  while  in  carting  away. 
An  inexperienced  miner  is  apt  to  stay  too  long  in  a 
breast  and  lose  his  life  by  being  buried  under  the  fall- 
ing mass  of  coal. 


208  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

.  The  company  pays  the  miner  so  much  for  every  ton 
of  coal  loaded  in  cars  in  the  mine,  according  to  the  basis 
of  the  coal-owners'  convention.  The  miner  employs  his 
own  laborers,  generally  paying  them  two  dollars  a 
day. 

Directly  we  left  the  tunnel  the  line  of  demarcation 
between  the  rock  and  coal  was  as  distinctly  marked  as 
the  stripes  in  a  black-and-white  dress.  The  solid  rock 
of  the  tunnel,  of  course,  requires  no  support ;  but  the 
coal  is  carefully  shored  up  with  enormous  balks  of  rough 
timber  every  two  or  three  feet.  The  uprights  are  called 
logs,  the  cross-beams,  collars.  And  yet  so  great  is  the 
pressure  at  the  sides  and  from  above,  that  these  huge 
trunks  of  trees  break  like  twigs.  All  night,  and  often 
in  the  daytime,  the  replacing  of  the  timbers  is  carried 
on.  They  last  no  time  ;  and,  as,  in  the  event  of  a  lift 
falling  in,  the  miners  would  probably  starve  before  they 
could  be  got  out,  no  precaution  in  the  way  of  effective 
shoring-up  is  omitted. 

After  wandering  about  the  gangways  and  galleries 
of  the  top  lift,  inspecting  the  formidable  array  of  boilers 
which  furnish  the  motive-power  and  control  the  venti- 
lation, examining  a  pump  of  wonderful  capacity,  four 
hundred  and  twenty-five  gallons  at  a  movement,  which 
occurs  four  times  in  a  minute,  being  introduced  to 
Joneses,  Williamses,  and  Davises,  without  number  (all 
the  miners  are  Welshmen,  and  the  laborers  Irishmen), 
we  made  our  way  to  the  head  of  the  slope  by  which  we 
were  to  descend  to  the  second  lift,  a  distance  of  three 


DOWN  IN  A   COAL-MINE.  oqq 

hundred  feet.  The  vista  down  the  tunnel,  which  de- 
scended at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  w^as  any  thing 
but  inviting.  Several  men  with  head-lamps  stood  at 
the  top,  looking  like  so  many  noisome  imps  of  darkness ; 
and,  as  I  glanced  around,  I  could  almost  fancy  I  saw  a 
vision  of  Dante  and  Beatrice,  as  Ary  Scheffer  pictured 
them,  at  the  entrance  to  the  infernal  regions.  At  the 
bottom,  I  believe  I  half  expected  to  find  old  Charon 
with  his  ferry-boat,  ready  to  carry  me  across  the  Styx, 
to  pay  a  court  visit  to  their  imperial  majesties,  Pluto 
and  Proserpine,  and  to  hear  the  surly  growl  of  old  Cer- 
berus, as  he  gave  warning  to  the  ruler  of  Hades  of  the 
approach  of  a  stranger. 

The  cars  are  hauled  up  and  let  down  the  slope  on 
a  "  cage,"  to  which  an  iron- wire  rope  is  attached.  This 
rope  winds,  in  either  direction,  round  a  revolving  drum 
about  four  feet  in  diameter.  By  this  arrangement  one 
cage  comes  up  as  the  other  goes  down. 

"  Where  is  the  cage  ? "  I  inquired,  fully  expecting 
to  see  some  sort  of  a  car  of  rude  construction. 

"  There  it  is,"  replied  my  guide,  pointing  to  a  mere 
hollow  framework  of  heavy  timbers,  with  strong  back- 
ing, which  lay  on  the  small  part  of  the  track,  at  the  top, 
which  is  level,  and  is  sunk  enough  to  bring  the  top  of 
the  cage  just  below  the  level  of  the  lift. 

To  avoid  delays  and  the  risk  of  couplings  breaking, 
the  cars  are  not  hauled  on  this  plane.  They  are  run 
over  the  cage  on  a  track  wider  than  the  cage,  and  the 
moment  the  drum  begins  to  revolve,  the  car  is  raised 


210  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

from  its  own  track  and  carried  up  or  down  the  plane 
on  the  cao-e. 

I  by  no  means  liked  the  look  of  the  cage  as  a  means 
of  conveyance.  There  was  nothing  to  hold  on  by,  and 
only  the  two  cross-bars  to  sit  upon,  with  the  chance  of 
using  the  iron  braces  as  a  purchase  for  the  feet,  at  the 
expense  of  a  most  uncomfortable  doubling  up  of  the 
legs.  One  of  the  Joneses  very  considerately  spread  a 
bunch  of  hay  on  the  top  cross-bar  and  I  took  my  seat, 
not  exactly  in  a  nervous  state  of  mind,  but,  nevertheless, 
with  a  wish  that  I  was  safe  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope. 

Away  we  started,  throwing  ourselves  into  a  semi- 
horizontal  position,  as  though  we  were  about  to  be 
shaved.  But,  as  there  was  no  friendly  chair-back  to 
support  the  head  and  shoulders,  the  position  was  by 
no  means  one  of  luxurious  ease.  When  we  were  about 
half-way  down,  I  asked  my  companion  : 

"  What  would  stop  us  in  case  the  wire-rope  broke  ? " 

That  reckless  and  heartless  man  actually  chuckled, 
as  he  replied,  "  The  bottom,  I  guess." 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  there  is  absolutely  no  provision  for  stopping 
the  car  ? " 

"  None  whatever,"  he  replied. 

"  Does  the  rope  ever  break  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied. 

"  And  what  happens  to  those  who  are  unlucky 
enough  to  be  stopped  by  '  the  bottom  ? ' "  I  asked, 
eagerly. 


DOWN  IN   A  COAL-MINE.  211 

He  answered  my  question  as  coolly  as  though  I  had 
asked  after  his  health  in  a  casual  way. 

"  Oh,  they  mostly  get  badly  injured  or  killed,"  he  said. 

I  shuddered,  he  chuckled  again,  and  we  were  at 
the  bottom. 

As  I  stepped  off  the  cage  on  to  lift  number  two,  I 
breathed  more  freely,  and  tried  to  convert  familiarity 
with  the  danger  into  contempt  for  it,  by  telling  myself 
that  perhaps,  after  all,  the  engineer  was  only  laughing 
at  me  in  his  sleeve,  and  that  there  was  no  more  real 
danger  in  it  than  in  glissading  down  mountain  snow- 
slopes,  a  mode  of  locomotion  which  is  delightfully  in- 
vigorating and  exciting  and  in  which  I  have  often  in- 
dulged. 

Here  I  had  a  long  talk  with  another  Jones  on  the 
dangers  of  a  coal-miner's  life.  He  told  me  that  he  al- 
ways  kept  his  eyes  and  ears  open  to  the  movements 
of  the  mules.  Their  long  ears  are  particularly  adapt- 
ed to  catching  the  faintest  sound.  They  can  detect 
some  sounds  before  the  most  experienced  miners, 
whether  the  cracking  of  the  coal  means  mischief  or  no, 
and  they  will  be  making  for  any  port  in  a  storm,  often 
squeezing  through  the  narrowest  apertures,  before  the 
miners  are  aware  that  something  is  going  to  happen. 

"  And,  sir,  a  few  seconds  is  a  mighty  sight  of  time," 
added  Mr.  Jones  ;  "  you  can  go  a  long  ways  in  two  sec- 
onds when  Death's  after  you." 

I  fully  agreed  with  him.     Now,  I  have  never  held 
mules,  as  domesticated  animals,  in  high  esteem ;  but, 


212  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

during  the  remainder  of  my  stay  in  that  coal-mine,  1 
became  so  interested  in  them  that  I  never  lost  si^ht  of 
them,  if  I  could  avoid  doing  so. 

In  this  lift  two  men  were  cutting  a  new  air-shaft  in 
an  upward  direction.  A  smaller  shaft  had  been  driven 
in  a  diagonal  direction,  a  little  on  one  side,  so  as  to 
meet  the  permanent  shaft.  A  small  boy  was  pump- 
ing fresh  air  through  an  air-condensing  pump  into  the 
smaller  shaft,  the  air  returning  through  the  large  one 
after  the  miners  had  had  the  benefit  of  it.  Who  would 
be  a  miner  ?  In  other  parts  of  the  lift  miners  were 
working  away  with  their  picks  at  the  solid  mass  in 
front  of  them,  the  little  lamps  giving  them  just  suffi- 
cient light,  and  shedding  a  strange  luminosity  over  the 
exquisite  rainbow  hues  of  the  anthracite,  the  colors 
changing  like  those  of  a  kaleidoscope  with  the  slightest 
movement  of  the  miner's  head. 

We  approached  the  top  of  the  second  slope,  intend- 
ing to  descend  to  lift  number  two.  A  coal-car  stood  at 
the  top.  I  presumed  we  should  have  to  wait  till  it 
went  down  and  the  cage  came  up  on  the  other  side.  I 
was  mistaken.  In  reply  to  my  inquiries,  my  guide 
told  me  that  they  had  no  cages  on  that  slope ;  that 
the  tunnel  in  which  it  ran  was  too  low.  The  cor- 
rectness of  his  statement  was  soon  afterward  impressed 
upon  me  in  a  very  forcible  but  highly-objectionable 
way. 

"  How  are  we  to  get  down,  then  % "  I  asked,  for  I 
saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  get  into  the  car. 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  213 

I  received  orders  to  take  off  my  hat,  hold  my  head 
down,  jump  on  to  the  end  of  one  of  the  side-beams  on 
which  the  car  wras  built  and  which  project  slightly  be- 
hind, and  hold  tight. 

I  obeyed  my  instructions,  but  not  without  some 
misgivings.  My  standing-place  was  only  eight  or  nine 
inches  square,  and  covered  with  slimy,  coal-dust  mud. 
The  top  of  the  back  of  the  car  was  just  as  bad,  and  I 
had  to  hold  on  like  grim  death  in  order  to  hold  on  at 
all,  for  we  had  to  stoop  down  till  we  could  just  peep 
over  the  back  of  the  car,  like  small  boys  playing  at 
hide-and-seek.  We  had  scarcely  started  when  I  had 
a  fearful  scare.  A  sharp  crack  almost  brought  my 
heart  into  my  mouth.  "  My  God !  there  goes  the 
rope,"  I  exclaimed  to  myself,  as  I  thought  of  my  wife 
and  children,  and  then  of  that  awful  bottom  at  which 
certain  death  awaited  me.  The  next  minute  I  was 
blessing  my  nerves,  and  thinking  whether  I  dare  release 
one  hand  from  its  grip  on  the  back  of  the  car  in  order 
to  rub  the  top  of  my  head.  One  of  the  shoring  tim- 
bers, not  the  rope,  had  given  that  alarming  crack,  and 
when  I  had  sprung  up  my  cranium  had  come  in  violent 
collision  with  the  timbers  only  a  few  inches  above  it. 
The  shower-bath,  too,  from  the  roof  of  this  tunnel  was 
a  pretty  severe  one,  and,  altogether,  when  we  reached 
the  bottom  I  was  in  a  sorry  plight. 

However,  I  put  the  best  face  on  it,  continued  my 
explorations  without  a  murmur,  evinced  the  liveliest 
interest  in  the  very  geological  conversation  of  my  guide, 


214:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

and,  I  believe,  succeeded  in  impressing  him  with  the 
idea  that  I  was  enjoying  myself  beyond  measure. 

This  is  the  lowest  lift  in  the  mine  at  present,  though 
the  cutting  of  the  tunnel  for  a  third  slope  is  already 
begun.  In  one  part  of  this  lift  they  were  blasting  out 
a  new  gangway,  and  I  found  the  miner  who  was  in 
charge  of  the  operation,  a  thoughtful  and  intelligent 
man.  He  showed  me  how  they  followed  the  seams  of 
coal,  and  explained  many  other  difficulties.  I  was  in- 
troduced to  him,  but  did  not  catch  his  name,  though  I 
presume  it  was  Jones.  He  was  lamenting  the  sickness 
of  the  mule  he  worked  in  drawing  his  coal  from  the 
blast.  He  propounded  a  novel  and  somewhat  startling 
theory  as  to  the  cause  of  the  "  ippysutic  "  disease,  as  he 
called  it. 

"  Look  here,  sir  !  "  he  said,  "  there's  my  mule  ;  she's 
down  two  lifts  (six  hundred  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
valley),  and  she's  been  down  here  for  four  months; 
never  been  up  once.  There  ain't  no  sick  mules  down 
here  for  her  to  catch  it  from  ;  and  the  ventilation-shaft 
don't  reach  here  yet.  You  can  see  that  by  the  atmos- 
phere." 

I  could.  The  air  was  quite  thick  and  laden  with 
sulphur,  gas,  and  powder-smoke,  which  could  find  no 
outlet. 

"  Now,  sir,"  continued  the  miner,  in  an  emphatic 
manner,  "  what  I  wants  to  know  is  this  :  How  did  that 
'  ippysutic '  find  its  way  down  here  ?  I'll  tell  you.  We 
imports  a  sight  of  oats  from  Canady  "  (accent  on  the  sec- 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  215 

ond  a,  if  you  please).  "  The  disease  bust  out  iu  Canady 
just  after  harvest,  and  spread  far  an*  wide  from  Canady 
wherever  there's  horses  or  mules.  It's  them  oats  as 
done  it ;  you  mark  my  word  if  it  ain't !  " 

Without  indorsing  or  attempting  to  dispute  this 
miner's  theory,  I  must  say  that  it  is  a  plausible  and 
thoughtful  view  of  the  matter  to  come  from  the  lips  of 
a  man  of  very  limited  education  and,  of  necessity,  so 
thoroughly  out  of  the  world  as  a  miner  is.  Impressed 
with  this  idea,  I  shook  his  blackened  hand  warmly  as  I 
bade  him  good-day,  and,  as  I  trudged  through  the  slush 
back  to  the  foot  of  the  slope,  I  regretted  that  the  at- 
mosphere of  his  gangway  should  have  prevented  my 
having  a  longer  chat  with  him.  He  told  me  that  he 
worked  there  from  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  five 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  not  even  going  up  to  eat  his 
dinner.  How  he  stands  it,  I  cannot  imagine.  In  the 
few  minutes  that  I  was  with  him,  my  lungs  got  so 
charged  with  powder-smoke  and  noxious  vapors,  that  I 
felt  the  effects  for  an  hour  or  so  after  I  had  once 
more  breathed  the  pure  air. 

I  also  felt  the  great  change  in  the  temperature  on 
leaving  the  mine.  The  temperature  in  the  mine  scarcely 
ever  varies,  summer  or  winter,  from  50°  Fahr.  It  was 
about  that  on  the  occasion  of  my  visit ;  but  outside,  in 
the  valley,  it  was  freezing  sharply.  If  the  difference  of 
25°  can  be  so  felt  in  the  winter-time,  what  must  be  the 
effect  on  the  miners  on  leaving  the  very  cool  tempera- 
ture of  50°  in  the  shade,  to  find  themselves  suddenly 


216  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

exposed  to  a  blistering  sun  and  130°  of  heat  when  they 
quit  work  for  dinner  !  So  warm  was  the  mine  that,  as 
I  made  my  way  "back  through  the  tunnel  to  the  valley, 
I  noticed  that  the  little  stream  of  water  which  runs 
through  it,  sent  up  a  considerable  quantity  of  steam  as 
it  approached  the  opening. 

Another  thing  rather  discomfited  me.  While  in 
the  mine,  the  pupils  of  my  eyes  had  gradually  accus- 
tomed themselves  to  the  intense  darkness,  and  on  emerg- 
ing into  the  bright  light,  especially  with  the  vast  ex- 
panse of  snow  before  me,  my  sight  was  very  wavering. 
I  saw  all  sorts  of  colors,  and  waving  bands,  and  revolv- 
ing circles  of  colored  light  in  the  atmosphere.  This 
lasted  for  a  considerable  time.  In  fact,  it  did  not  en- 
tirely pass  away  till  some  time  after  sunset,  when  the 
natural  darkness  was  fast  approaching.  As  a  general 
thing,  the  mules  in  the  upper  lifts  are  taken  out  in 
the  fresh  air  once  a  week.  Those  which  remain  be- 
low any  length  of  time  without  this  change,  are  en- 
tirely blind  when  they  are  eventually  brought  up,  and 
a  long  time  elapses  before  they  thoroughly  recover 
their  sight. 

I  was  by  no  means  sorry  once  more  to  be  out  in  the 
sunlight.  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  am  glad  to  have 
explored  a  coal-mine  ;  but  I  repeat,  that  the  actual  ex- 
perience is  far  from  being  as  pleasant  as  the  remem- 
brance of  the  novel  and  curious  sights  which  it  presents. 
I  cannot  say  that  a  miner's  life  is  one  which,  as  a  labor- 
ing-man, I  should  select  before  all  others.     True,  they 


DOWN  IN  A  COAL-MINE.  217 

make  a  good  deal  of  money  ;  often  one  hundred  and  fifty, 
two  hundred,  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  month. 
But  I  fail  to  see  that  even  this  high  rate  of  earnings 
affords  a  due  compensation  for  being  buried  alive,  for 
the  best  part  of  the  term  of  one's  natural  life,  Down  in 
a  Coal-Mine. 

"A.  P." 


15 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS. 

It  was  in  the  thriving  little  manufacturing  town  of 
Pawtucket,  which  lies  partly  in  Rhode  Island  and  partly 
in  Massachusetts,  that  I  was  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Sawdust  Ring.  I  had  entered  into  an 
engagement,  as  it  turned  out,  far  from  a  lucrative  one 
with  the  proprietors  of  Howes's  Great  London  Circus, 
and  Sanger's  Menagerie  of  trained  animals,  to  appear  for 
"  positively  one  week  only  "  as  a  member  of  their  match- 
less company ;  not  as  a  star  rider,  a  gymnast,  or  a  con- 
tortionist, nor  even  as  a  "  merrie  jester,"  but  in  the  hum- 
ble though  very  useful  capacity  of  "  supe."  There  is  noth- 
ing like  taking  a  back-seat  in  the  lowest  chamber.  You 
can  sink  no  lower,  and  you  may  possibly  rise  to  any 
height  to  which  your  ardent  ambition  may  soar.  In  a 
traveling  circus  you  may  even  rise  so  high  as  to  be 
deemed  worthy  of  the  honor  of  being  sworn  at  by  the 
ring-master,  and,  by  displaying  unheard-of  merit  and 
some  business  ability,  you  may,  by  a  streak  of  good 
luck,  be  actually  promoted  to  the  proud  position  of 
ticket-collector  at  the  doors. 

Fired  with  a  noble  and  laudable  ambition,  I  had 


THE     CIRCUS     RING. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  (iurncy.) 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  219 

procured  such  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Howes  as 
at  once  secured  me  a  position,  humble  as  it  was,  in  that 
gentleman's  vast  establishment,  and  five  minutes  after 
receiving  my  appointment  I  was  duly  enrolled  on  the 
paymaster's  books,  that  official  being  instructed  by  Mr. 
Howes  to  conduct  me  to  the  awful  presence  of  the 
"  boss  "  of  the  "  supes."  My  boss  was  one  of  those  gen- 
tlemen of  length  without  breadth,  as  that  bugbear  of 
my  school-boy  days — Euclid — defined  a  line  ;  but,  with- 
al, wiry  and  muscular.  He  looked  me  up  and  down 
with  a  critical  eye,  and  then  he  curtly  inquired  of  the 
paymaster,  in  the  most  contemptuous  tone : 

"  Where  in  hell  did  you  pick  that  up  ?  "  at  the  same 
time  pointing  scornfully  with  his  thumb  at  poor  me. 

This  was  not  encouraging  by  any  means  for  a  young 
beginner.  However,  the  paymaster  gave  him  to  un- 
derstand that  Mr.  Howes  himself  was  my  godfather. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?  "  growled  my  boss, 
in  a  surly  way  ;  and  then,  turning  to  me,  he  ordered  me 
to  follow  him. 

The  afternoon  performance  was  about  to  begin,  so  I 
was  divested  of  my  literary  jacket,  thrust  into  a  scarlet 
coat  that  was  too  small  for  me,  and  told  to  assist  in 
putting  the  fancy  trappings  on  the  ladies'  horses,  and 
make  myself  generally  useful  in  the  entry  way  of  the 
ring.     What  a  glorious  debut ! 

Within  twenty  minutes  my  "boss"  confidentially 
told  the  ring-manager  that  "  that  new  supe  you've  took 
on  don't  seem  to  amount  to  much."     The  ring-manager 


220  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

replied,  however,  that  it  was  none  of  his  business  ;  that 
Mr.  Howes  had  taken  me  on.  An  hour  afterward 
my  "boss"  declared  to  Mr.  Howes  himself  that  I 
"  wasn't  worth  a  cent  a  day,  and  that  he  had  better 
1  shake '  me  as  soon  as  possible."  Before  the  perform- 
ance  was  half  over,  he  had  sworn  at  me  a  dozen  times 
for  idling  about  (ignorance  of  my  duties  compelled  me 
to  confine  my  efforts  to  carrying  the  resin-board,  on 
which  the  acrobats  and  gymnasts  rubbed  the  soles  of 
their  shoes,  into  the  ring)  ;  and  after  the  final  act  he 
indignantly  remonstrated  with  Mr.  Howes,  whose  un- 
usual passiveness  he  could  not  understand,  told  him 
that  I  was  "  nothing  better  than  a  God-damned  loaf- 
er," and  that  he  didn't  "  want  no  such  chaps  as  him 
around." 

I  had  not  been  long  a  member  of  the  circus  troupe 
before  I  discovered  that  all  my  previous  ideas  with  re- 
gard to  that  class  of  people  were  totally  erroneous — at 
least,  so  far  as  those  with  whom  I  was  thrown  in  con- 
tact were  concerned.  I  had  expected  to  find  myself 
among  a  rollicking,  roystering  set  of  men,  who  pre- 
ferred short  pipes  and  tobies  of  ale  to  wine  and  cigars, 
and  whose  dressing-room  was  a  theatrical  exhibition  of 
every  thing  that  is  coarse  and  objectionable.  And  I 
had  more  than  a  vague  suspicion  that  some  of  the 
ladies  might  be  a  little  loose  in  their  notions  of  strict 
propriety.  I  was  astonished,  then,  to  meet  a  com- 
pany of  staid  and  decorous  ladies  and  gentlemen,  quiet 
and  rather  reserved  in  manner,  and  so  far  from  having 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  221 

a  liking  for  dissipation  that  they  were  only  too  anxious 
to  get  to  bed  as  soon  as  they  got  home  from  the  even- 
ing performance. 

Nearly  all  the  ladies  in  the  troupe  are  the  wives 
of  the  gentlemen  in  the  troupe.  Among  the  riding 
"  stars  "  there  is  one  family,  comprising  two  brothers, 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  brothers,  and  three  sisters.  They 
are  connected  by  marriage  with  Mr.  Howes,  and,  even 
if  he  were  careless  on  that  subject,  and  he  is  not  by  any 
means,  they  would  not  tolerate  for  one  moment  the 
companionship  of  any  one  against  whom  there  was  a 
breath  of  suspicion.  The  leading  clown  has  his  wife  in 
the  troupe ;  so  has  the  leading  acrobat,  the  band-mas- 
ter, some  of  the  somersault  leapers  and  others.  Even 
the  women  who  sell  lemonade,  oranges,  cake,  and  candy, 
are  wives  of  the  ticket-sellers  or  other  employes.  A 
few  of  them  have  a  young  child  or  two  with  them. 

The  leading  clown,  or,  as  he  should  more  properly 
be  termed,  the  jester — for  he  takes  for  his  model  the 
court  fools  of  the  middle  ages — has  been  in  the  ring 
for  nve-and-twenty  years.  He  has  been  all  through 
Europe,  in  Australia,  India,  China,  Japan,  the  Feejee 
Islands,  and  Egypt,  and  has  even  paid  a  visit  of  pleas- 
ure to  the  arctic  regions  in  a  whaling-ship.  Being  a 
man  of  thought  and  intelligence,  he  has  stored  his 
mind  with  a  mass  of  the  most  interesting  information. 
He  has,  as  have  all  his  companions,  a  great  idea  of 
sustaining  the  good  name  and  reputation  of  the  pro- 
fession. 


222  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

Another  thing  particularly  struck  me — the  dress  of 
the  lady  riders.  There  was  none  of  that  prurient  sug- 
gestiveness  about  it  which  is  doing  so  much  to  demoral- 
ize the  stage.  It  was  neat  and  tasteful,  yet  pretty  and 
attractive,  only  short  enough  to  enable  them  to  go 
through  their  acts,  and  free  from  all  unnecessary  ex- 
posure of  the  shoulders  and  bosom. 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  among  church-going 
provincials  to  regard  a  circus  as  "  something  to  be 
avoided,"  if  not  even  an  invention  of  Satan  himself. 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that,  so  far  as  Mr. 
Howes's  circus  is  concerned,  no  child  could  possibly 
see  any  thing  in  it  but  a  legitimate  afternoon's  or  even- 
ing's pleasure  and  excitement.  At  all  events,  I  can 
bear  witness  that  it  was  so  while  I  remained  a  "  supe  " 
in  Mr.  Howes's  circus. 

I  cannot,  I  think,  furnish  stronger  testimony  to  the 
general  demeanor  of  our  company,  than  by  quoting  a 
remark,  which  I  happened  to  overhear,  made  by  the 
landlord  of  one  of  the  hotels  where  we  stopped  to  one 
of  his  other  guests  : 

"  If  I  had  not  been  at  the  entrance  when  they  ar- 
rived," he  said,  "  I  should  not  have  known  that  there 
was  a  circus-man  in  the  house." 

There  were  over  thirty  of  us  in  that  one  hotel. 

Circus-life  begins  very  early  in  the  morning.  It 
could  hardly  well  begin  much  earlier,  unless  it  began 
the  nicrht  before.  But,  when  it  is  considered  that  the 
journey  from  one  town  to  another  often  occupies  six 


LIFE  m  A  CIRCUS.  223 

hours,  and  that  the  doors  are  open  for  the  mid-day  per- 
formance at  one  o'clock,  it  is  evident  that  this  is  neces- 
sary. 

The  company  is  divided  into  four  detachments.  The 
first — the  hostlers — starts  with  the  stable-tents  at  two 
o'clock  ;  the  second,  with  the  menagerie  and  circus-tents, 
starts  at  three  o'clock ;  the  cages  of  animals,  and  the 
enormous  pageantry  chariots  follow  them ;  and  all  the 
performers  start  as  soon  as  they  have  got  through  their 
four  o'clock  breakfast.  One  very  strict  rule  brings  every 
man  to  his  post  at  the  right  time  for  starting ;  no  one 
is  allowed  to  ride  on  any  other  wagon  than  his  own. 
To  those,  like  myself,  unaccustomed  to  sleeping  in  the 
daytime,  going  to  bed  at  half-past  eleven  and  getting 
up  at  half-past  three  is  a  terrible  infliction.  But,  after 
an  hour's  ride  in  the  fresh,  bracing  air  of  the  early  morn- 
ing, one's  energies  are  soon  alive,  and  an  interest  is 
aroused  in  the  game  of  euchre  or  whist  going  on  in  one 
of  the  omnibuses,  and  in  the  running  fire  of  badinage 
which  is  kept  up  all  along  the  line  as  those  members  of 
the  company  who  have  buggies  of  their  own  pass  wagon 
after  wagon. 

When  the  foot  of  a  hill  is  reached,  most  of  the  men 
turn  out  and  walk,  so  as  to  ease  the  teams,  and  many  a 
back-somersault  is  turned  on  the  high-road,  with  only 
a  few  startled  cows  looking  over  the  fence  by  way  of 
spectators. 

I  used  to  like  to  walk  by  the  side  of  the  elephants. 
They  march  with  such  a  solemn,  stately  tread,  as  though 


224:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

they  were  a  mere  lifeless  mass  moved  by  means  of  ma- 
chinery, and  I  must  ask  the  reader  to  accept  my  assur- 
ance that  the  elephants  which  traveled  with  us  were  no 
common  elephants.  They  are,  in  their  way,  far  more  re- 
markable members  of  a  circus  troupe  than  I  was  myself. 
I  had  made  great  friends  with  one  of  them,  and  used  to 
put  a  roll  in  my  pocket  every  morning  for  him  to  steal. 
One  morning  I  put  it  in  the  wrong  pocket,  and  he  got 
nothing  but  my  pipe  and  tobacco,  which,  on  finding 
out  his  mistake,  he  very  knowingly  replaced.  He  was 
an  animal  of  considerable  intelligence  ;  for,  one  morning, 
when  a  young  urchin  by  the  roadside  said  to  his  com- 
panion, "  Shouldn't  I  like  to  have  a  ride  on  that  ele- 
phant," I  could  have  sworn  that  my  friend  of  the  trunk 
winked  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  he  wish  he 
may  get  it !  "  As  I  have  said,  these  elephants  are  really 
very  wonderful  animals.  Their  performance  in  the 
ring  is  marvelous,  considering  that  their  training  only 
began  in  January  last.  They  will  shuffle  round  the 
ring  at  a  great  pace  like  the  trained  horses,  walk  on 
three  legs,  stand  on  their  hind-legs,  stand  on  their  fore- 
legs, using  their  trunks  as  a  support ;  go  round  the  ring 
waltzing,  and  form  themselves  into  pyramidal  groups 
on  pedestals  of  different  heights.  One  of  them  even 
goes  up  a  ladder,  turns  round,  and  comes  down  head- 
first, and  another  grinds  a  barrel-organ,  turning  the 
handle  with  his  trunk.  Altogether,  it  was  a  marvelous 
exhibition  of  animal-training  ;  and  yet  their  trainer  tells 
me  they  can  do  still  more  wonderful  tricks,  though  he 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  225 

is  not  yet  sufficiently  sure  of  them  to  exhibit  them  in 
the  ring. 

Behind  the  elephants  came  four  beautiful  tamed 
zebras,  drawing  an  elegant  little  park  phaeton.  This 
is  the  only  team  of  four  zebras  that  has  ever  been  trained. 
Queen  Elizabeth  is  said  to  have  had  a  pair ;  but  no 
other  cases  are  recorded.  The  zebras  used  to  cause  me 
a  good  deal  of  amusement  as  we  passed  through  the 
villages.  The  rustics  would  almost  invariably  exclaim, 
"  Look  at  them  painted  donkeys  !  "  It  w^as  the  same  in 
the  show.  The  provincials  had  never  heard  of  tame 
zebras  before.  There  was  always  a  crowd  gathered 
around  them  discussing  the  question  as  to  whether  they 
were  painted  donkeys  or  really  zebras.  I  heard  one 
man,  who  evidently  thought  he  was  arguing  the  matter 
very  logically,  exclaim  to  a  knot  of  listeners  : 

u  See  here  now,  them  ain't  zebers  !  don't  you  see 
they're  all  marked  alike  ?  They've  been  damned  fools 
enough  to  paint  'em  all  to  one  pattern." 

It  was  just  the  same  with  the  team  of  eight  spotted 
donkeys.  The  unsophisticated  rustics  would  have  it 
that  they  were  painted.  They  would  insist,  too,  that 
the  lion-cubs  were  only  puppy -dogs  dyed  to  the  right 
shade  of  color.  What  an  insult  to  the  young  family  of 
the  king  of  the  forest,  who  is  in  truth  a  lordly  animal 
for  whom  I  have  the  highest  respect !  Indeed,  I  have 
generally  a  school-boy  hankering  after  circus-menageries, 
in  spite  of  the  Puritan  anathemas  under  which  they 
rest. 


226  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

11 1'spite  of  all  hypocrisy  can  spin, 

As  surely  as  I  am  a  Christian  scion, 
I  cannot  think  it  is  a  mortal  sin 
(Unless  he's  loose)  to  look  upon  a  lion." 

But  I  must  get  on  to  the  next  place  where  we  are 
to  perform.  By  the  time  the  circus  and  menagerie  tents 
arrive  on  the  ground,  the  stable-tents  are  all  erected — 
ten  of  them  in  all ;  for,  with  the  draught-horses,  the  pad- 
horses,  the  trick-horses,  ponies  and  donkeys,  stabling  is 
required  for  two  hundred  animals.  While  the  hostlers 
unharness  the  teams  and  feed  and  groom  them,  the  tent- 
men  remove  the  canvas,  heavy  tent-poles,  and  seats  from 
the  wagons,  and  the  foreman  proceeds  to  lay  out  the  ring. 

Laying  out  the  ring  is  rather  a  nice  operation.  It 
must  be  a  perfect  circle  of  an  exact  diameter,  other- 
wise the  horses  would  be  thrown  out  of  their  stride 
when  going  round  it.  The  bank  of  earth  which  incloses 
it  is  formed  by  ploughing  several  furrows,  and  then 
shoveling  the  earth  up.  A  man  must  have  a  very 
correct  eye  and  have  his  team  under  perfect  control,  to 
plough  a  true  circle  ;  for  he  has  nothing  but  his  eye 
to  guide  him. 

While  he  is  at  work,  the  tent-men  swarm  about. 
And  yet  no  one  gets  in  another's  way ;  for  every  one 
has  his  own  poles  to  raise,  his  tent-pegs  to  drive,  his 
seats  to  erect  in  a  certain  section  of  the  tent,  or  his  al- 
lotted portion  of  the  canvas  to  attend  to.  The  whole 
thing  is  done  as  if  by  clock-work,  and  almost  as  rapidly 
as  the  erection  of  the  fairy  palaces  in  the  Arabian 


LIFE   IX   A   CIRCUS.  227 

Nights.  I  traveled  with  the  tent-men  one  morning  for 
the  express  purpose  of  seeing  the  tents  erected.  They 
were  put  up,  both  the  circus  and  the  menagerie  tents, 
in  a  little  under  two  Lours.  Now,  the  circus-tent  itself, 
though  not  quite  so  big  as  the  Circus  Maximus  of  old 
Rome,  which  was  one  mile  in  circumference,  is  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  feet  across,  and  holds  over  six  thousand 
people.  One  would  have  thought  that  it  would  occupy 
a  whole  day  to  put  up  the  seats  alone.  The  menagerie- 
tent  is  only  a  little  smaller  than  the  circus-tent.  As 
soon  as  the  animal  cao-es  and  chariots  arrive,  their  can- 
vas  coverings  are  removed,  the  tires,  axles,  and  springs 
are  examined,  and  the  dust  or  mud  removed  from  the 
wheels.  Presently,  the  omnibuses,  rockaways,  and  bug- 
gies, containing  the  performers  and  the  band,  begin  to 
arrive  in  rapid  succession,  their  occupants  hurrying 
away  immediately  for  the  dressing-tents. 

Of  the  ladies'  dressing-tent,  of  course,  I  am  unable 
to  say  any  thing.  The  men's  tent  presents  a  most  curi- 
ous spectacle  in  the  course  of  five  minutes.  In  the  cer- 
tre  stands  a  sort  of  high  pedestal  with  small  looking- 
glasses  arranged  on  the  top.  Before  one  glass  stands 
the  "  funny  "  clown,  applying  any  amount  of  mutton- 
fat  to  his  face  and  neck  before  he  puts  on  the  powdered 
whitening  and  vermilion  paint  which  is  to  give  to  his 
face  the  conventional  half-ghastly,  half-comical  appear- 
ance which  clowns  affect.  At  the  next  glass  stands  a 
stalwart  fellow,  with  nothing  on  but  fleshings  and  a 
pair  of  high  jack-boots,  dyeing  his  mustache  to  a  beau- 


•  223  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

tiful  black.  Peeping  over  his  shoulder  is  a  companion, 
whose  only  garment  is  supposed  to  be  a  steel  corselet, 
putting  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  pint  of  oil  upon  his  hair. 
All  around  are  huge  cases ;  one  filled  with  breastplates, 
another  with  helmets,  others  with  lances,  flags,  and 
banners,  and  others  with  great  crimson  jack-boots. 
"  Helmet  for  Number  Ten  !  "  cries  the  property -man, 
and  Number  Ten,  perhaps  almost  in  a  state  of  nudity, 
makes  a  short-cut  to  the  property-man  by  means  of  a 
somersault.  (All  the  performers  are  required  to  ride 
in  the  procession.)  u  Breastplate  for  Number  Sixteen ! " 
calls  another  property-man  ;  and  Number  Sixteen,  who 
is  shaving,  nearly  cuts  a  piece  out  of  his  cheek.  Down 
goes  the  razor,  for  the  rules  against  keeping  the  prop- 
erty-man waiting  are  very  stringent,  as  I  found  out  to 
my  cost  the  one  morning  I  rode  in  the  procession. 

It  was  on  the  second  clay  of  my  circus-life,  and  in 
the  good  city  of  Providence,  Khode  Island,  that  I  made 
my  first  and  last  appearance  as  a  knight  in  full  armor 
in  the  public  streets.  My  costume  consisted  of  a  corse- 
let and  petticoat,  such  as  were  worn  by  the  old  cru- 
saders ;  a  steel  breastplate,  a  steel  helmet,  with  visor 
and  nodding  plumes,  and  a  pair  of  large  crimson  boots, 
reaching  to  the  knee.  The  property-man  also  furnished 
me  with  a  gigantic  battle-axe,  and  gave  me  very  brief 
instructions  as  to  how  I  should  carry  it.  For  any  fur- 
ther information  as  to  the  style  of  my  costume,  I  must 
refer  the  reader  to  the  engraving  from  Mr.  Gurney's 
photograph  at  the  commencement  of  this  sketch. 


LIFE  IX  A  CIRCUS.  229 

When  we  were  all  mounted  —  we  were  twenty 
knights  and  twenty  ladies — and  the  remainder  of  the 
procession  was  all  in  order,  the  word  "  All  ready  "  was 
given,  the  four  heralds  sounded  their  trumpets,  the 
bands  struck  up  a  martial  air,  and  the  next  moment 
we  were  marching  in  solemn  procession  through  the 
crowded  streets  for  the  delectation  of  the  youth  and 
infancy  of  Providence.  The  boys  cheered,  the  men 
stared  in  an  idle  sort  of  way,  and  the  little  children 
clapped  their  hands ;  and  all  along  the  route  we  were 
criticised  by  young  and  old.  Remarks,  such  as  "  Look 
at  them  chariots !  "  "  Say,  ain't  that  the  biggest  show 
you  ever  see  ? "  and,  to  the  knights,  "  Say,  boss !  ain't 
you  mighty  fine  ?  "  greeted  us  from  every  side.  But  I 
had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards  before  I  discovered  that 
my  saddle  was  a  most  uncomfortable  one,  and  that  it  is 
very  difficult  for  a  novice  to  carry  himself  with  that 
martial  bearing  so  imperative  in  circus  street-proces- 
sions. But  the  discomfort  of  my  saddle  was  a  trifle 
to  the  suffering  I  was  soon  to  endure  from  my  helmet. 
The  thermometer  stood  eighty-five  degrees  in  the  shade, 
and  the  rays  of  the  sun  shot  down  on  the  polished  sur- 
face of  the  helmet  with  such  intensity  that  I  felt  as  if  my 
head  was  being  roasted.  I  am  sure  that  I  could  have 
steamed  potatoes  inside  that  helmet,  or  broiled  a  porter- 
house steak  on  the  outside  of  it.  It  was  a  patent  cook- 
ing-stove on  a  small  scale — "  generating,"  as  the  stove- 
founders  say,  in  their  advertisements,  "  an  immense 
amount  of  heat  with  absolutely  no  consumption  of  fuel." 


-230  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

And  I  endured  that  agony  for  one  hour  before  we 
returned  to  the  tents,  when  I  took  the  first  opportunity 
to  feel  if  my  hair  wras  singed.  Like  a  camel,  I  rushed 
for  a  bucket  of  water,  threw  my  helmet  on  the  ground, 
and  dashed  my  head  under  the  water.  The  next  mo- 
ment I  lay  spluttering  at  full  length  upon  the  ground, 
with  the  sensation  that  a  cannon-ball  had  struck  me 
somewhere  near  the  region  of  the  heart.  I  picked  my. 
self  up  slowly,  and  confronted  that  awful  property- 
man.  It  was  he  and  not  a  cannon-ball  who  had 
knocked  me  down. 

"  You're  a  nice  sort  of  cuss  to  go  chucking  the 
properties  about  like  that ! n  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked 
up  the  helmet  and  strode  away. 

Fortunately  for  me,  my  friend  had  so  much  to  at- 
tend to  that  he  hadn't  time  to  knock  me  down  a^ain. 
Otherwise,  I  think  he  would  have  done  so,  for  he  was 
terribly  angry,  stood  about  six  feet  two  inches,  and  was 
very  powerfully  built.  As  soon  as  the  company  had 
resumed  the  costume  of  the  nineteenth  century,  they 
all  hurried  off  to  the  different  hotels  to  which  they 
were  assigned — some  to  snatch  an  hour's  sleep  before 
dinner,  others  to  write  letters,  and  others,  again,  to 
lounge  about  and  smoke.  I  retired  to  my  room  to  see 
if  any  of  my  ribs  were  broken. 

I  joined  the  company  at  dinner  that  day,  for  the 
first  time,  and  found  myself  seated  opposite  to  one  of 
them  whom  I  had  not  yet  seen.     I  sat  down  in  mute  - 
astonishment.     Mr.  Pickwick  would  have  gazed  at  him 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  231 

through  his  gold  spectacles  in  utter  amazement.  Sam 
Weller  would  have  heartily  enjoyed  the  contemplation 
of  him  for  a  good  hour.  It  was  the  mammoth  fat  boy, 
aged  eight  years.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  him? 
and  he  stared  at  me  with  a  sort  of  stolid  indifference 
as  he  piled  his  food  into  his  capacious  mouth.  This 
young  eight-year  old  ate  to  such  an  enormous  extent 
that  I  expected  every  moment  to  see  his  jacket  split. 
He  is  very  great  on  roasted  chicken,  and  a  roasted 
chicken  was  provided  for  him.  A  six-weeks  old  kitten 
could  not  have  made  a  meal  off  what  he  left  of  that 
chicken.  I  forgot  to  count  how  many  potatoes  he  ate ; 
but  he  ate  six  good-sized  hot  biscuits,  of  which  he  is 
very  fond.  His  mother  sat  at  his  right  hand,  and  every 
minute  it  was : 

"  Marmy,  I  want  some  more  chicken — marmy,  more 
biscuit — -marmy,  more  potatoes." 

In  addition,  he  ate  half  of  a  very  large  custard-pie, 
and  wound  up  with  an  enormous  hunch  of  molasses- 
cake  and  two  oranges.  He  drank  the  necessary  quan- 
tity of  water  to  wash  this  immense  mass  of  food  down. 
His  mother  told  me  that  he  eats  "  four  good  square 
meals  a  day  "  (I  should  call  them  cubic  meals),  and  that 
he  "  eats  whenever  he  can  get  a  chance  between- whiles." 
A  good  supply  of  food  is  always  placed  by  his  bed- 
side, because  he  is  apt  to  wake  hungry  in  the  night. 
Perhaps  the  most  marvelous  thing  about  him  is  that 
he  has  never  had  a  day's  sickness  in  his  life.  I  met  this 
infant  prodigy  the  next  day  in  the  show  between  the 


232  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

performances,  and  I  asked  his  mother  to  allow  me  to 
measure  him.  She  readily  acceded  to  my  request,  and, 
in  fact,  took  down  his  dimensions  as  I  measured  him. 
The  task  was  an  easy  one,  as  he  was  dressed  in  the 
fashion  of  a  child  of  three  years  of  age — bare  arms 
and  chest.  The  following  are  the  statistical  results  of 
the  measurement  of  this  eight-year-old  prodigy  : 

He  measured  seventeen  inches  round  the  throat, 
fifty-eight  inches  round  the  chest  over  the  arms,  fifty- 
one  inches  round  the  waist,  thirty-one  inches  round  the 
thigh,  nineteen  inches  round  the  leg  below  the  knee, 
and  twenty-three  inches  round  the  head.  He  is  four 
feet  seven  inches  high,  and  weighs  two  hundred  and 
seven ty-eight  pounds.  I  felt  the  boy's  arms  and  chest, 
and  it  was  just  like  handling  so  much  dough.  If  you 
prod  him  with  your  finger,  the  flesh  goes  in  like  an 
India-rubber  ball ;  and  when  he  sits  down  he  seems  to 
flatten  and  spread  out  over  the  chair.  This  infant 
enormity  was  born  on  the  25th  December,  1863.  I  en- 
deavored to  verify  the  fact  of  his  age  by  making  in- 
quiries of  those  performers  who  were  in  the  show  with 
him  last  year.  They  all  told  me  that  there  was  no 
doubt  about  his  age,  for,  while  they  were  traveling  last 
summer,  he  was  shedding  his  first  set  of  teeth  ;  and  one 
or  two  told  me  that  they  had  known  him  for  four  years, 
and  had  watched  his  extraordinary  growth. 

I  had  been  so  intently  studying  the  "  fat  boy  "  that 
it  was  some  time  before  my  attention  was  attracted  to 
his  immediate  neighbors.     At  his  left  hand  sat  rather  a 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  233 

jpetite-looking  young  lady,  nineteen  years  old,  with  a 
fall  beard  and  mustache ;  and  next  to  her  sat  a  little 
lady  of  eight-and-twenty  years  of  age  and  thirty-two 
inches  in  height,  in  a  child's  hio-h-chair.  She  is  married 
to  one  of  the  employes  of  the  circus,  who  is  an  ordi- 
nary-sized man,  and,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  they  say 
that  she  rules  him  with  an  iron  rod  by  constantly 
threatening  to  get  a  divorce  from  him.  Of  course,  as 
she  brings  him  a  considerable  annual  income  by  exhib- 
iting herself,  this  is  about  the  last  thing  he  would  wish 
her  to  do.  She  gave  us  a  taste  of  her  quality  during 
dinner.  The  "  funny  "  clown  came  in  late,  and,  on  tak- 
ing his  seat  opposite  the  party,  said : 

"  Well,  my  '  small  by  degrees  and  beautifully  less,' 
how  are  you  all  this  hot  day  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  the  little  woman,  firing  up  in  an 
instant,  "  I  will  thank  you  to  treat  me  as  a  lady ;  you 
deserve  to  have  your  ears  well  boxed.  If  my  husband 
were  here  you  wouldn't  dare  to  address  me  so." 

Left  to  my  own  devices  during  the  afternoon  per- 
formance (my  boss  having  given  me  up  in  despair),  I 
took  my  stand  in  the  entry  of  the  circus,  and  watched 
the  performance  from  beginning  to  end,  from,  perhaps, 
the  most  desirable  of  all  points  of  view.  Our  com- 
pany boasted  several  first-class  "  stars."  We  had  one 
lady  who  leaped  from  the  back  of  her  horse  through 
four  balloons  at  one  leap  with  apparently  as  much  ease 
as  I  could  walk  through  a  door-way  and,  undoubtedly, 

with  more  grace.     We  had  another  lady  who  thought 
16 


234  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

nothing  of  kneeling  on  one  knee  on  her  husband's 
shoulder  as  he  went  round  the  ring  standing  on  his 
horse's  back.  We  had  a  gentleman  who  turned  double 
somersaults  over  seven  horses.  He  also  performed  the 
difficult  feat  of  jumping  on  to  a  bare-backed  running 
horse  without  touching  him  with  his  hands.  He  ap- 
peared simply  to  be  running  to  catch  the  horse,  but  sud- 
denly he  seemed  to  fly  from  the  ground,  and  instantan- 
eously his  feet  were  planted  firmly  on  the  horse's  back. 
This  act  was  always  the  signal  for  a  storm  of  applause, 
cat-calls,  whistling,  and  every  other  conceivable  noise. 
We  had  an  acrobat  whose  little  boy  held  himself  with 
his  feet  in  the  air,  holding  on  his  father's  outstretched 
arm  by  simply  one  hand.  We  had  two  gymnasts  who 
performed  on  three  bars,  and  who  always  alighted  on 
the  ground  in  the  very  last  way  one  would  have  antici- 
pated. And  we  had  the  sarcastic  humor  of  the  jester, 
and  the  drolleries  of  the  funniest  of  funny  clowns.  I 
confess  that  I  enjoyed  the  thing  immensely,  and  I  was 
not  surprised  to  learn  from  Mr.  Howes  the  following 
day  that  they  had  been  compelled  to  refuse  admission 
to  the  best  part  of  two  thousand  persons  at  the  even- 
ing performance. 

But  it  was  supper- time,  and  I  strolled  back  to  the 
hotel.  I  leisurely  went  through  a  course  of  what  Sam 
Weller  called  u  rinsing,"  and  then  repaired  to  the  dining- 
room.  To  my  surprise,  I  saw  my  "  boss  "  standing  by 
the  side  of  Mr.  Howes  as  he  sat  at  table  and  evidently 
talking  in  a  very  emphatic  strain.     Judge,  then,  his  as- 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  235 

tonishment  on  seeing  his  chief  rise  from  his  seat,  wish 
me  good-evening  as  he  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and  offer 
me  the  vacant  chair  by  his  side.  Poor  fellow !  He 
hastily  retired,  muttering  very  audibly,  "  Well,  I'm 
damned  ! "  Mr.  Howes  told  me  afterward  that  he  had 
been  remonstrating  most  energetically  against  my  being 
retained  any  longer;  that  he  had  complained  that  I 
was  doing  more  harm  than  good,  as  the  other  supes 
were  becoming  dissatisfied  at  the  leniency  shown  to  me 
while  they  were  inexorably  kept  up  to  the  scratch. 
We  laughed  heartily  over  this  little  episode  together ; 
and,  before  the  commencement  of  the  evening  perform- 
ance, Mr.  Howes  walked  arm-in-arm  with  me  through 
the  different  tents.  This  action  added  still  further  to 
the  mystery  surrounding  me ;  and,  before  I  left  the 
circus,  there  was  an  impression  abroad  that  I  was  there 
with  a  view  to  purchasing  an  interest  in  the  concern. 
Indeed  !  The  small  amount  of  ready  money  that  I  could 
raise  would  hardly  persuade  the  proprietors  of  the  show 
to  part  with  a  tent-peg  !  The  show  could  not  be  re- 
placed to-morrow  under  an  expenditure  of  from  three 
hundred  and  fifty  to  four  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Long,  however,  before  I  took  my  departure,  my  "  boss  " 
and  I  were  on  the  most  friendly  terms.  I  told  him  con- 
fidentially who  I  was,  and  no  one  could  have  laughed 
more  heartily  than  he  did  over  the  way  in  which  he 
had  been  taken  in.     Said  he  : 

"  I  have  been  thirteen  years  with  my  present  em- 
ployer in  the  circus  business,  and  this  is  the  biggest 


236  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

circus  joke  that  has  ever  been  played  on  ine ; "  and  then 
he  added,  "  let's  go  and  take  a  drink." 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  day  of  our  stay  in 
Providence,  I  lit  a  cigar  after  breakfast  and  strolled 
down  to  the  circus.  On  entering  the  menagerie-tent,  I 
discovered  the  proprietor  of  the  show  seated  on  a  bench 
and  watching  the  tiger-trainer  cleaning  the  tigers'  cage. 
There  were  five  tigers  in  the  cage,  all  royal  Bengal 
tigers,  and  the  most  magnificent  brutes  that  I  ever  saw. 

"  How  those  fellows  would  make  mince-meat  of  you 
or  me,  did  we  venture  into  their  cage ! "  I  remarked, 
after  wishing  the  proprietor  good-morning. 

"  Yes,  if  we  went  in  alone,"  he  replied ;  "  but  that 
man  has  them  under  such  perfect  control  that  I  would 
walk  in  there  this  minute,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion.    Would  you  like  to  go  in  ?   There's  no  danger." 

I  turned  the  matter  over  in  my  mind  for  a  minute 
or  two,  and  then  approached  the  cage  and  asked  the 
tamer  what  he  thought  about  the  matter.  He  replied 
to  my  inquiry,  by  driving  all  the  tigers  into  one  corner 
with  his  whip,  and  opening  the  door  of  the  cage.  The 
next  moment  I  stood  face  to  face  with  those  fierce,  splen- 
didly ferocious  animals,  with  only  the  tamer  between 
us.  For  a  few  seconds  they  glared  fiercely  at  me  as 
though  about  to  spring,  and  I  clutched  more  firmly  the 
latch  of  the  barred  door.  Then  one  of  the  males  raised 
himself  on  his  hind-legs  to  his  full  length,  resting  his 
enormous  paws  upon  the  upper  cross-bar  of  the  cage. 
He  snarled  fearfully  at  me,  and  his  velvety  tail  swept 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  237 

backward  and  forward  in  the  most  ominous  manner. 
The  jaws  of  death  were  wide  open  before  me,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  I  could  look  half-way  down  his  throat. 
But  the  keeper  kept  his  eye  steadfastly  upon  him,  and 
the  upraised  whip  cowed  him  into  submission.  The 
others  paced  uneasily  up  and  down  the  end  of  the  cage, 
evidently  longing  to  make  a  meal  of  me,  and  uttering 
continually  that  horrible  snarl  peculiar  to  tigers  ;  show- 
ing their  gaping  throats  and  tremendous  fangs  every 
time  they  did  so.  I  opened  the  door  of  the  cage  and 
sprang  out  as  the  keeper's  whip  descended  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  one  which  was  crouching  for  a  spring,  not  being 
desirous  of  giving  my  lord  of  the  jungle  a  ghost  of  a 
chance.  The  keeper  himself  shortly  afterward  left  the 
cage,  and  the  animals  at  once  gave  vent  to  the  excite- 
ment under  which  they  were  laboring.  They  bounded 
backward  and  forward  in  the  cage,  fought  among  them- 
selves, and  told  me,  as  plainly  as  mute  action  could  do, 
how  great  was  their  disappointment  that  they  were  not 
then  engaged  in  picking  my  bones.  They  did  not  quiet 
down  for  half  an  hour  afterward  ;  but,  being  safely  out- 
side the  cage,  I  could  afford  to  laugh  at  their  angry 
demonstrations,  and  did  laugh  heartily  when  Mr.  Howes 
told  me  a  story  of  a  small  boy  who  gave  as  his  reason 
for  envying  the  prophet  Daniel,  that  Daniel  had  been 
in  the  lions'  den  and  had  seen  the  show  for  nothing  ! 

Having  done  with  the  tigers,  and  it  being  about 
mid-day,  Mr.  Howes  proposed  that  we  should  stroll 
down  and  see  the  men  at  their  dinner.     There  they 


238  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

were,  some  seventy  or  eighty  of  them,  seated  at  long 
tables  in  their  tented  dining-room.  Their  dinner  con- 
sisted  of  the  very  best  beef-steak,  roasted  pork,  fried 
liver  and  bacon,  stewed  tomatoes,  turnips,  potatoes,  pie, 
and  pudding.  Every  thing  was  appetizing  to  the  senses, 
and  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  the  sumptuousness  of 
the  repast  for  that  class  of  men. 

"  I  find,"  replied  Mr.  Howes,  "  that,  by  giving  my 
men  all  they  want  of  the  best  of  food,  I  get  more  work 
out  of  them,  and  it  is  much  more  willingly  done." 

I  asked  him  where  they  all  slept. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  capital  system  of  tenting 
the  men  ;  but,  as  a  general  thing,  they  prefer  to  sleep 
in  the  open  air,  or  in  the  stable-tents." 

He  showed  me  the  sleeping  arrangements.  They 
consisted  of  a  series  of  arched  frames  covered  with  thick 
tarpaulin,  very  much  like  the  movable  tops  of  grocers' 
wagons.  They  run  in  sets,  each  fitting  inside  a  larger 
one,  so  that  they  can  be  packed  together  and  easily 
transported.  They  are  all  provided  with  mattresses  to 
fit  them ;  but  it  is  only  in  wet  or  very  damp  weather 
that  the  men  can  be  persuaded  to  use  them.  That  same 
night  I  took  a  stroll  through  the  tents  in  company  with 
the  watchman,  and  it  certainly  was  a  curious  spectacle 
to  see  these  great,  brawny  fellows  lying  sound  asleep 
in  all  directions,  many  of  them  within  a  foot  or  two  of 
their  horses'  heels.  One  might  almost  fancy  one  was 
in  some  camp  through  which  the  Destroying  Angel  had 
passed,  as  through  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs  of  old,  and 


LIFE  IN  A  CIRCUS.  239 

that,  instead  of  being  soundly  asleep,  they  were  all  dead 
men,  lying  where  death  had  struck  them  down,  so  little 
thought  had  they  exercised  in  choosing  a  sleeping-place, 
so  apparently  uncomfortable  were  the  attitudes  and  po- 
sitions of  many  of  them,  were  it  not  for  the  loud  trom- 
bone chorus  which  they  unceasingly  kept  up. 

An  hour  after,  the  scene  was  lively  to  a  degree. 
Every  one  was  awake  and  preparing  for  the  day's 
march.  Some  were  tethering  and  watering  the  horses, 
some  taking  down  the  tents,  others  packing  them  away 
in  the  wagons.  It  was  a  wild,  strange  scene,  the  break- 
ing  up  of  that  camp  by  torchlight. 

In  another  hour,  the  stable  detachment  had  started ; 
in  another  hour,  no  vestige  of  the  circus  was  to  be  seen, 
save  the  broken-down  ring  and  its  soiled  saw-dust.  And 
yet  some  peculiar  fascination  had  drawn  a  crowd  of 
small  boys  to  the  spot,  even  at  that  early  hour.  The 
deserted  spot  looked  like  some  banqueting-hall  the 
morning  after  a  feast,  or  a  ballroom  when  the  daylight 
has  driven  away  the  dancers. 

Before  leaving  my  friends — the  knights  of  the  saw- 
dust— I  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  try  my  hand  at 
riding  round  the  magic  circle,  and  I  persuaded  the  ring- 
master to  have  a  pad  put  on  a  horse  for  my  benefit.  I 
mounted  with  any  amount  of  confidence  and  bravado, 
in  spite  of  his  assurance  that  I  was  "  certain  to  come  to 
grief."  But  I  relied  on  the  saw-dust  as  being  soft  tum- 
bling, and  he  started  the  horse  with  a  crack  of  his  whip. 
The  clown,  who  was  looking  on,  whistled  the  favorite 


240  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

circus  air  from  Auber's  opera  of  the  "  Clieval  du  Bronze." 
Of  all  the  horrible  jolting  processes  I  ever  went  through 
riding  on  a  circus-pad  is  about  the  worst.  I  can  com- 
pare it  to  nothing  but  riding  in  a  box- wagon,  without 
springs,  over  a  series  of  railroad-ties,  laid  about  six 
inches  apart.  And  the  edge  of  the  pad,  too,  cuts  into 
the  inside  of  each  thigh  in  the  most  merciless  manner. 
The  more  I  tried  to  hold  on  without  holding  with  my 
hands,  the  more  I  was  jolted ;  and,  after  one  round,  I 
determined  to  try  the  side-saddle  fashion.  That  was 
very  pleasant  till  the  horse  started ;  but  we  had  not 
gone  five  yards  before  I  fell  over  backward  on  to  the 
rope  inclosing  the  ring,  and  great  was  the  fall  thereof. 
But  I  was  not  to  be  beaten  by  one  tumble,  and  I 
mounted  again,  this  time  with  a  leg  on  either  side  of 
the  horse  once  more.  After  I  had  got  round  the  ring, 
I  thought  I  would  try  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  get 
on  to  my  knees.  Instead  of  jumping  up  on  to  both  knees 
at  once,  in  my  ignorance,  I  put  the  outside  knee  up  first. 
This  was  fatal.  The  horse  being  in  what  is  called  a 
"  slantingdicular "  direction — leaning  at  a  considerable 
angle  toward  the  centre  of  the  ring — my  position  was  a 
perfectly  untenable  one,  and  I  was  shot  with  considerable 
impetus  from  the  horse's  back,  landing  in  the  saw  dust 
with  a  thud,  to  the  infinite  delight  and  amusement  of  the 
few  lookers-on.  I  think  that  one  experience  of  circus-ri- 
ding will  suffice  me  for  life.  It  is  a  profession  for  which  I 
was  evidently  never  intended  by  Nature.  My  respect  for 
circus-riding,  however,  as  an  art,  is  largely  increased  by  it. 


LIFE  IN  A   CIRCUS.  041 

"  It  is  not  so  easy  as  it  looks,  you  see,  sir,"  remarked 
my  friendly  ring-master,  as  he  brushed  the  saw-dust  off 
me.  "  People  have  no  idea  of  the  difficulty  of  attaining 
a  true  balance  in  riding  round  the  ring.  The  body 
being  out  of  the  perpendicular,  the  centre  of  gravity  is, 
of  course,  an  unnatural  one,  and  there  is  a  continual 
tendency  to  fall  on  the  inside  of  the  horse.  A  perfect 
balance  will  enable  a  circus-rider  of  nerve  to  do  almost 
any  thing.  It  is  this  alteration  in  the  centre  of  gravity 
in  the  body  which  makes  leaping  over  banners  and 
through  hoops  so  difficult.  For  this  reason  :  At  the 
moment  of  springing  from  the  pad,  the  rider's  body  is 
not  perpendicular,  but,  in  flying  through  the  air,  the 
body  naturally  assumes  its  proper  perpendicular  posi- 
tion. The  consequence  is  that,  unless  the  rider  can 
instantaneously  again  accommodate  his  centre  of  gravity 
to  that  of  the  running  horse,  when  he  descends  on  his 
back,  he  must  inevitably  shoot  from  the  pad  into  the 
ring,  just  the  same  as  a  stone  bounds  away  when  you 
drop  it  on  a. sloping  surface.  Otherwise,  the  leaping  in 
itself  is  not  difficult,  provided  the  horse  is  well  trained, 
and  has  a  regular,  even  stride.  Without  an  even  stride 
a  leap  could  not  be  made,  for  the  rider  must  spring 
from  the  pad  at  the  moment  the  horse  rises  behind.  It 
is  because  the  horse  is  out  of  his  regular  stride  that 
riders  are  sometimes  compelled  to  pass  under  the  ban- 
ners instead  of  leaping  them.  You  have  no  conception 
of  the  difficulty  of  circus-riding."  (I  rather  thought  I 
had.)     "  Nearly  all  circus-riders  are  regularly  appren- 


242  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

ti.ced  in  their  childhood,  and  are  literally  reared  to  it.  I 
conld  train  a  little  child  to  stand  up  on  a  running  horse 
in  three  weeks.  But  I  don't  think  you  could  stand  up 
under  a  year,  because  of  the  vast  difference  between 
your  size  and  weight,  and  that  of  a  little  child." 

This  was  to  me  a  pretty  clear  definition  of  the  main 
difficulties  of  circus-riding. 

My  experience  of  a  circus  has  convinced  me  of  one 
thing — that,  from  the  proprietor  down  to  the  lowest 
supe  and  stable-man,  all,  without  exception,  connected 
with  one  lead  a  very  hard  life,  and  earn  every  penny 
they  get  (the  paymaster  utterly  forgot,  at  least,  he 
omitted,  to  pay  me  my  hardly-earned  week's  wages, 
whatever  they  may  have  amounted  to),  and  that  their 
short  nights,  their  long  journeys  in  a  hot  sun,  over 
sandy,  dusty  roads,  their  processions  in  the  mid-day 
glare,  their  thoroughly  broken  day,  must  be  exceeding- 
ly exhausting  to  the  system.  There  is,  too,  a  consider- 
able mental  strain  in  going  through  a  horseback  act  in 
the  ring ;  while  the  physical  exertion  of  the  acrobats, 
gymnasts,  and  leapers,  must  be  something  tremendous. 
And  yet,  though  some  of  them  look  worn,  they  are  all 
as  cheery  and  merry  together  as  possible.  Their  kind- 
ness and  courtesy  to  me  will  be  ever  remembered.  One 
and  all,  from  Mr.  Howes  downward,  expressed  their  re- 
gret at  the  shortness  of  my  stay  with  them ;  and,  as  I 
said  farewell  to  them  at  Fall  River,  they  grasped  me 
warmly  by  the  hand  when  I  told  them  how  pleasing 
and  gratifying  to  me  had  been  the  insight  they  had 
given  me  into  Life  in  a  Circus.  "  A.  P." 


A  EIDE  ON  AN  ENGINE. 

"  Now,  sir,  all  aboard  !  "  said  the  driver  of  the  eight 
o'clock  evening  express  from  New  York,  as  I  stood  con- 
templating the  ponderous  locomotive  which  was  to 
draw  us  to  Albany. 

I  quickly  tossed  my  valise  up  to  the  fireman,  and 
sprang  on  to  the  platform  of  the  engine  Constitution. 
The  next  moment  the  driver  moved  the  levers,  the  en- 
gine angrily  belched  forth  a  cloud  of  steam  and  smoke, 
and  we  slowly  ground  our  way  out  of  the  Central  Depot. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  on  a  locomotive. 

Of  all  the  grimy,  soot-incrusted  corners  in  which  I 
have  ever  found  myself,  the  little  cushioned  seat  under 
the  window,  which  was  mine  for  the  nonce  and  which 
the  driver  designated  "  the  lounge,"  as  he  invited  me  to 
occupy  it,  was  far  ahead.  The  dust  from  the  soft,  bitu- 
minous coal,  and  the  fine  ashes  from  the  smoke-stack, 
seemed  to  have  penetrated  every  little  nook  and  cran- 
ny, the  crack  of  every  window-ledge,  and  every  thread 
of  my  cushion,  as  well  as  the  clothing  of  the  driver  and 
fireman.  On  my  arrival  at  Albany,  I  was  just  in  fine 
order  to  take  a  supe's  part  in  the  plantation  dance  of 


24A  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

a  minstrel  troupe  without  any  further  preparation. 
Hands  and  face  were  alike  black,  and  I  was  compelled, 
tired  as  I  was,  to  go  through  a  severe  course  of  soap 
and  water  before  I  could  venture  to  tumble  in  between 
a  pair  of  clean  white  sheets.  I  went  to  sleep  that 
night  utterly  lost  in  an  abstruse  mental  calculation  as 
to  how  many  weeks  it  would  take  to  thoroughly  cleanse 
a  man  who  had  been  an  engine-driver  for  twenty  years, 
or  whether  it  would  be  as  impossible  to  restore  his  skin 
to  its  normal  pinky  hue  as  for  the  Ethiopian  to  change 
his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots. 

At  first  I  was  a  little  bewildered  by  the  clatter  of 
the  engine  on  the  rails,  the  clanging  of  the  bell,  and 
the  hoarse  shrieks  of  the  whistle  as  we  passed  along 
Fourth  Avenue  at  a  slow  pace ;  still  more  so  as  our 
speed  was  increased  when  we  entered  the  cutting 
leading  into  the  Yorkville  Tunnel.  In  the  tunnel  I 
almost  seemed  to  lose  my  head,  and  felt  as  though  the 
drums  of  my  ears  were  bulging  out.  But,  on  emerging 
from  the  tunnel  into  Harlem,  and  pulling  up  as  we 
reached  the  bridge  over  the  river,  the  feeling  of  confu- 
sion passed  away,  and,  as  we  proceeded  at  a  moderate 
speed  around  the  curve  which  leads  under  the  High 
Bridge  to  King's  Bridge  and  the  junction  with  the  old 
main  line,  I  had  leisure  to  watch  the  movements  of  the 
driver  and  ask  him  from  time  to  time  for  explanations 
of  them. 

His  occupation  mainly  consisted  in  operating  two 
levers,  one  admitting  the  steam  into  the  cylinders,  and 


A  RIDE   ON  AN  ENGINE.  245 

the  other  governing  it  when  there,  thus  regulating  the 
speed  of  his  train  at  will.  The  second  lever  is  also 
used  in  reversing  the  engine.  The  driver  throughout 
the  entire  journey  seldom  removed  his  hand  from  the 
lever  which  admits  the  steam  into  the  cylinders ;  watch- 
ing his  steam-gauge  and  timing  his  speed  and  operat- 
ing the  lever  accordingly.  At  times  he  would  move 
it  slightly  and  gently  backward  and  forward  so  as  to 
coax  more  steam  into  the  cylinders.  At  the  same  time 
he  watched  his  track  and  looked  out  for  signals  with 
unceasing  vigilance. 

As  we  swung  around  on  to  the  main  line,  his  eye 
seemed  to  scan  the  whole  track  at  a  glance,  and  he  at 
once  "let  her  go,"  as  he  termed  it.  I  soon  became 
alive  as  to  what  he  meant  by  "  let  her  go."  In  the 
course  of  a  few  minutes  our  speed  was  increased  to 
nearly  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  I  quickly  discovered 
that  a  ride  on  an  engine,  however  novel  it  may  be,  is 
not  at  all  a  pleasing  diversion.  Those  who  ride  in 
palace  and  drawing-room  coaches  have  no  conception 
of  the  oscillation  of  the  body  of  the  engine,  the  fearful 
clatter  and  the  horrible,  crunching  sound  of  the  grind- 
ing of  the  wheels  on  the  hard  steel  rails — for  the 
wheels  nip  the  rails  tight  enough.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  engine  was  like  some  enormously  powerful 
horse,  the  bit  in  his  mouth,  the  reins  broken,  and  he 
trying  his  best  to  break  away  from  the  carriage  he  is 
drawing.  There  appeared  to  be  a  constant  effort  on 
the  part  of  our  snorting  iron-horse  to  run  away  from 


246  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  train.  As  we  approached  the  tunnels  I  could  almost 
fancy  it  would  succeed  in  doing  so,  and  an  involuntary 
impulse  led  me  to  throw  my  hands  forward,  as  though 
to  clutch  at  something  to  stop  it.  We  appeared  not  to 
enter  the  darkness,  but  to  be  shot  into  it  as  from  a  gun  • 
and  our  speed  appeared  to  increase  instantly,  till  we 
almost  seemed  to  fly  over  the  rails.  Entering  the  tun- 
nel with  an  involuntary  shrinking  back,  it  was  a  posi- 
tive relief  to  dash  into  the  bright  moonlight  playing 
on  the  waters  of  the  Hudson  River  and  lighting  up 
the  villas  and  trees  on  the  hill-side  above  us.  The 
noise,'  too,  as  we  thundered  along  was  fearful — produc- 
ing a  most  unpleasant  singing  sensation  in  the  head 
and  ears.  So  great  was  the  reverberation  of  sound  in 
the  tunnels  that  the  drum  of  my  ear  seemed  to  be  bat- 
tered against  to  such  extent  as  to  deprive  me  tempora- 
rily of  the  sense  of  hearing.  I  could  feel  the  noise 
more  than  I  could  hear  it.  To  my  ears  the  noise  was 
far  greater  before  entering  the  tunnel,  but  far  more 
bearable.  In  the  tunnel  it  was  so  overpowering  that, 
paradoxical  as  it  may  appear  to  say  so,  I  could 
scarcely  hear  it.  My  sens'e  of  hearing  seemed  to  be 
paralyzed. 

"While  rushing  along  on  the  open  track,  and  even  in 
a  cutting,  I  could,  by  a  great  effort,  make  the  driver 
hear  what  I  said,  though  I  could  not  hear  the  sound 
of  my  own  voice.  When  he  spoke  to  me,  he  apparent- 
ly used  no  effort  whatever,  but  I  nevertheless  heard 
every  word  distinctly.     In  the  tunnels,  however,  on 


A  RIDE   ON  AN  ENGINE.  947 

two  or  three  occasions  when  lie  spoke  to  me,  I  could 
see  his  lips  move  but  could  not  hear  a  sound. 

Another  thins;  struck  me.  I  thought  the  engine 
must  run  off  the  rails  at  every  curve ;  and,  even  in  "  the 
straight,"  I  twice  asked  the  driver  why  he  was  changing 
from  one  track  to  another.  I  can  only  account  for  this 
on  the  ground  that,  from  where  I  sat,  I  could  see,  in  an 
oblique  direction,  the  track  lying  immediately  in  front 
of  the  engine.  This,  under  the  influence  of  such  rapid 
and  oscillating  motion,  gave  me  the  impression  that  the 
train  was  in  a  diagonal  line  with  the  other  track,  and 
crossing  to  it. 

On  we  rushed,  racing  like  the  furious  gusts  which 
precede  the  summer  thunder-shower,  the  fireman  heap- 
ing on  shovels  of  coal  every  two  or  three  minutes  ;  past 
the  rapid-growing  towns  and  villages  on  the  heights 
above ;  past  the  innumerable  lights  of  Sing-Sing  Pris- 
on, which  gave  it  a  more  cheerful  appearance  than  the 
sunlight — because  the  light  is  from  within,  not  from 
without — but  which,  on  a  second  thought,  painfully  re- 
mind one  of  the  misery  and  wretchedness  within  ;  past 
the  red  glaring  chimneys  and  forges  of  the  Peekskill 
iron- works,  looking  as  though  the  demons  of  hell  were 
holding  their  midnight  revels  in  them ;  past  the  gaunt, 
grim  peaks  of  the  Highlands,  with  their  black-shad- 
owed sides,  and  the  bay  of  Newburg  peacefully  rip- 
pling in  the  moonlight.  On  we  raced,  leaving  New- 
burg  behind  us  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  as  though 
we  had  not  a  minute  to  spare.     There  was  a  something 


248  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

entrancing  in  such  rapid  motion  under  such  circum- 
stances which  utterly  suppressed  me.  I  remained  as 
still  and  motionless  as  one  who  has  just  received  the 
news  of  some  crushing  misfortune  and  whose  nerves 
have  not  yet  begun  to  rally.  I  doubt  if  I  could  then 
have  even  fought  for  my  life,  so  great  was  my  feeling 
of  powerlessness  while  contemplating  the  mighty  power 
of  the  locomotive. 

I  had  been  silently,  but  intently  and  fixedly,  gazing 
at  it  for  some  minutes,  when  the  driver  called  out  to 
me — 

"  Here's  where  she  went  down." 
I  inquired,  "  Where  who  went  down  ?  " 
"  Why,  this  engine — the  Constitution,"  he  replied. 
"  That  was  the  celebrated  New-Hamburg  drawbridge 
which  we  crossed  just  now ;  the  bridge  where  that  ac- 
cident happened  when  Doc.  Simmons  and  several  pas- 
sengers were  killed." 

"  Ah  !  "  I  exclaimed,  at  the  remembrance  of  that 
awful  sacrifice  of  life ;  and  immediately  there  was 
something  still  more  terrible  to  me  in  that  almost  mad- 
dened rush  of  the  engine.1  It  was  useless  to  remind 
myself  of  the  controlling  power  of  the  driver.  The 
sense  of  the  marvelous  and  fearful  power  of  the  engine 
was,  for  the  while,  absolutely  overwhelming. 

On  we  raced,  as  if  tearing  for  life  and  death,  up 
to  the  very  last  moment  when  it  became  necessary  to 
slacken  speed  in  order  to  pull  up  at  Poughkeepsie  Sta- 
tion.    Once  there,  where  was  our  furious  haste  ?     The 


A  RIDE   ON  AN  ENGINE.  249 

engine  was  as  placid  as  a  young  child  in  its  sleep,  save 
when  the  driver  tried  his  steam.  The  fireman  was 
quietly  wandering'  around  it,  replenishing  the  oil-cups 
and  seeing  that  all  was  rigrkt ;  the  engineer  lolled 
against  the  window-sill  and  chatted  with  me. 

Again  we  started  on  our  wild  journey  and  grad- 
ually worked  up  to  our  old  high  rate  of  speed ;  the 
engine  puffing  and  snorting,  as  if  conscious  of  its 
power,  and  shrieking  defiance  at  all  opposing  obstacles. 

Again  that  paralyzing  feeling  of  utter  helplessness 
came  over  me,  accompanied  by  an  inability  to  control 
my  thoughts,  or  guide  them  into  some  other  channel 
than  that  of  bewildered  wonder,  which  almost  amount- 
ed to  involition.  Several  times  I  was  conscious  that 
the  driver  was  talking  to  me,  but  I  hardly  heard  or  un- 
derstood what  he  said.  I  do  not  think  that  I  once  re- 
plied to  him.  And  so  lost  was  I  that  the  passage  of 
time  kept  pace  with  our  tremendous  speed.  Station 
after  station  was  passed,  the  bright  lamps  merging  into 
one  stream  of  light,  and,  without  my  being  aware  of  it, 
we  were  fast  approaching  our  journey's  end. 

Again  the  driver  spoke  to  me. 

"  Just  fifteen  miles  to  do  in  twenty-two  minutes,"  he 
said. 

"  Can  he  do  it  ?  "  I  mused — "  forty-five  miles  an 
hour  ;  "  and  again  my  whole  mind  was  concentrated  on 
the  engine. 

I  could  not  speak.     There  I  sat,  regardless  of  my 

grimy  cushion,  of  every  thing,  like  one  held  in  control 
n 


'250  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

by  something  fascinating,  yet  appalling.  I  conld  no 
more  have  removed  my  eyes  from  that  engine  than  I 
would  have  dared  to  jump  from  it ;  and,  when  the 
driver  pointed  to  lights  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river,  and  said,  "  Here  we  are  ;  there's  Albany,"  I  start- 
ed from  my  sleepless  dream,  like  one  who  wakes  and 
knows  that  he  has  seen  a  vision  never  to  be  forgotten ; 
painful,  but  not  to  be  regretted ;  fearful,  but  full  of  in- 
tense interest. 

"A.  P." 


THE     UNDERGROUND     LODGING-HOUSE. 
(Portrait  of  amateur  lodger,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


A  XIGHT  IN  AX  UNDERGROUND  LODGING- 

HOUSE. 

As  tlie  story-writing  hacks  of  the  period  would  say  j 
The  night  was  drawing  on  apace  and  the  booming  of  a 
distant  church-bell  had  long  since  proclaimed  that  the 
hour  of  nine  was  passed,  when  a  solitary  wayfarer 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  corner  of  Water  and  Roose- 
velt Streets  and  peered  wistfully  around.  Shouts  of 
drunken  laughter  and  ribaldry  came  from  the  flaring 
den  at  his  elbow,  but  he  appeared  to  be  so  absorbed  in 
his  own  thoughts  that  they  did  not  attract  even  his 
momentary  attention.  Even  the  squeaking  riddles  and 
jingling  harps  of  the  neighboring  sailors'  dance-houses 
were  apparently  unheeded  by  him.  Otherwise,  all  was 
qniet  in  that  generally  noisy  and  dissolute  locality  ; 
for  the  piercing  cold  snap  and  driving  snow  had  driven 
all  its  rum-sodden  and  unsavory  denizens  into  their 
cellars  and  rum-holes  long  before  their  customary  hour 
of  retiring.  As  the  wayfarer  stood  in  the  glare  of  the 
nickering  gas-light,  his  appearance  denoted  the  greatest 
poverty.  A  tattered,  threadbare  overcoat,  equally 
threadbare  trousers,  an  old  woolen  comforter  wound 


252  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

several  times  round  his  throat,  and  a  pair  of  "bulging 
boots,  afforded  him  little  protection  against  the  inclem- 
ent weather  and  sloppy  pavement,  and  he  shivered  like 
one  suffering  from  the  palsy.  And,  when  the  light 
from  the  gas-lamp  fell  full  upon  his  face  as  he  looked 
up  to  read  the  name  of  the  street,  his  uncombed  hair 
and  beard,  of  many  days'  growth,  gave  a  ghastly  look 
to  his  cold,  pinched  features.  With  a  sigh,  which  told 
how  little  he  relished  his  prospects  for  the  night,  he 
wiped  the  melting  snow  from  his  face  with  a  handker- 
chief, and  then,  crossing  the  street,  he  inquired  of  a  pass- 
ing officer  where  he  could  obtain  a  lodging  for  the  night. 

u  It  must  be  a  very  cheap  one,  if  you  please,"  he 
added,  in  a  weary  tone. 

The  officer  scanned  him  narrowly  for  a  moment  or 
two,  saw  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and  asked  him  how 
much  money  he  had. 

"  Only  twenty  cents,"  was  the  sorrowful  reply. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  officer,  "  you  can  get  a  bed  at 
Casey's — 336  Water  Street — for  fifteen  cents,  and,  at 
all  events,  you'll  be  out  of  the  streets  such  a  night  as 
this,  if  it  ain't  a  first-class  one." 

And  then,  pointing  to  a  light  which  gleamed  faintly 
through  the  cracks  of  a  cellar-door  a  little  way  down 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  he  continued : 

"  Go  down  there  ;  that's  Casey's." 

The  wayfarer  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  bade  him 
u  good-night,"  and,  having  groped  his  way  down  six  or 
seven  stone  steps,  knocked  nervously  at  the  door. 


A  NIGHT  IN  AN   UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE.    253 

Had  the  officer  been  at  his  side  when  he  wiped  the 
enow  from  his  face  while  standing  under  the  gas-lamp, 
his  keen  eye  would  have  noted  the  fact  that  the  mate- 
rial of  the  handkerchief  was  white  cambric ;  that  same 
keen  eye  might  possibly  also  have  detected  the  initials 
A.  P.  imprinted  in  large,  black  German  letters  in  one 
corner.  The  presence  of  that  handkerchief  was  an  over- 
sight. 

Yes,  reader,  as  the  children  say,  in  answer  to  the 
parental  inquiry  of  "  Who's  there  ?"  when  they  knock 
at  the  parental  bedroom-door  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  it  was  only  me. 

I  knocked  nervously  at  the  door,  I  say  ;  and  for  this 
reason  :  I  was  fully  conscious  of  being  a  first-class  fraud, 
and  I  was  also  aware  that  many  of  the  dwellers  in  Wa- 
ter Street  are  familiar  with  my  ordinary  personal  ap- 
pearance ;  consequently,  the  effectiveness  or  otherwise 
of  my  disguise  caused  me  some  little  uneasiness,  as  I 
felt  that  all  eyes  would  surely  scrutinize  the  last  comer 
the  moment  he  put  his  foot  inside  the  door. 

But  I  had  seen  and  heard  so  much  of  these  under- 
ground lodging-houses  that  I  had  determined,  at  all 
hazards,  to  personally  test  the  fullness  of  their  horrors 
and  discomforts.  My  summons  at  once  stopped  the 
confusion  of  tongues  within  ;  the  door  was  unlocked, 
and  a  dirty,  slipshod  woman,  who,  with  one  hand,  held 
an  infant  at  her  breast  and,  with  the  other,  held  a 
badly-fractured  kerosene-lamp  over  her  head  to  get  a 
good  look  at  me,  demanded  to  know  what  I  wanted. 


254  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

•  "  Can  I  have  a  bed  here  to-night  ? "  I  asked,  as  I 
entered. 

"  All  full,"  was  the  terse  reply ;  "  but  you  can  have 
a  stool  by  the  stove,  if  that'll  do  ye." 

A  glance  at  the  stools — low  wooden  ones,  without 
backs — was  by  no  means  reassuring,  and  I  was  on  the 
point  of  turning  to  go  out,  when  Mr.  Daniel  Casey,  in 
propria  persona,  emerged  from  an  inner  room. 

Mr.  Casey  is  a  slightly-built  little  man,  with  a  quick, 
watchful  eye,  a  mouth  displaying  determination,  and 
yet,  withal,  a  man  of  quiet  demeanor,  whose  only  facial 
adornment  is  a  small  goatee,  of  which  an  orthodox  cor- 
ner-loafer of  twenty  years  of  age  would  be  ashamed. 
But,  as  his  neighbors  say :  "  Casey  is  mighty  smart. 
He  knows  who's  who,  and  what's  what ;  and  there's 
no  man "  (sotto  voce,  "  when  he's  sober  !  ")  "  knows 
better  how  to  keep  house  and  order  than  Casey  does." 
Mr.  Casey  understands  the  art  and  fully  appreciates 
the  advantages  of  making  money.  And  he  makes  it ; 
though  in  the  city  directory  he  most  modestly  styles 
himself  "  laborer."  Well,  there  is  nothing  like  taking 
the  advice  of  old  Polonius  to  Laertes,  and  assuming  "  a 
virtue  if  vou  have  it  not." 

"  What's  that  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Casey,  sharply,  and 
with  an  eye  to  business. 

His  better-half  jerked  out :  "  Man  wants  bed.  We're 
full." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we  can  fix  him,"  rejoined  Mr.  Casey; 
"  he  can  have  half  Nigger  Joe's  bed." 


A  NIGHT  IN  AN  UNDERGROUND   LODGING-HOUSE.    25 


z.>o 


"Heavens  alive!"  thought  I;  "that's  more  than 
I  bargained  for.  Sleeping  with  a  colored  man  is 
more  than  I  am  prepared  to  endure,  even  in  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge.  I  must  look  elsewhere  for  a 
lodging." 

But,  before  these  thoughts  had  fairly  flashed  through 
my  brain,  Mr.  Casey  had  added,  "  You'll  share  your  bed, 
Joe,  I  know,  on  a  night  like  this,  with  a  decent  man  ? " 

I  followed  the  direction  of  Mr.  Casey's  glance  and 
question,  and  a  small,  active-looking  young  man,  with  jet- 
black  eyes  and  hair,  who  was  sitting  by  the.  stove,  said, 
carelessly,  "  Oh,  I  don't  object." 

My  alarm  subsided  in  a  moment.  Nigger  Joe  was  no 
negro  at  all.  His  sobriquet  only  applied  to  the  unusual 
blackness  of  the  color  of  his  hair  and  eyes.  Had  I 
known  then  what  I  have  since  learned — that  Nigger 
Joe  was  implicated  in  the  terrible  "alley- way"  murder 
and  was  only  discharged  for  want  of  some  links  in  the 
evidence  against  him — I  think  I  should  have  preferred 
to  him  the  dirtiest  colored  man  for  a  bedfellow. 

My  sleeping-place  having  been  arranged  to  the  sat- 
isfaction of  all  interested  in  the  matter,  I  seated  myself 
on  a  three-legged  stool  which  Mr.  Casey  placed  near  the 
stove  for  me  and  quietly  proceeded  to  make  a  survey 
of  the  premises  and  a  mental  appraisement  of  the  mot- 
ley crowd  who  were  to  be  my  companions  for  the  night. 

I  was  in  an  uncarpeted  room  about  thirteen  or  four- 
teen feet  square,  with  a  ceiling  so  low  that  I  could  not 
stand  upright  without  rubbing  my  head  against  it.    On 


256  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  left  side  was  a  small  bar,  with  a  collection  of  cracked 
tumblers,  two  or  three  dirty  liquor-bottles,  and  one  of 
those  molasses-colored  stone  water-pitchers,  minus  its 
handle  and  lip.  Beyond  the  bar  was  the  bedstead  of 
the  Casey  family  ;  said  family  consisting  of  Daniel  Ca- 
sey, Esq.,  and  wife,  the  infant  hereinbefore  mentioned, 
and  two  sons  of  Mrs.  Casey  by  a  former  husband,  who 
appeared  to  be  about  ten  and  twelve  years  of  age  re- 
spectively. How  they  all  manage  to  sleep  in  that  one 
bed,  this  deponent  knoweth  not.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  room  was  another  bed.  Opening  from  this  room 
were  two  other  chambers  en  suite,  smaller,  and  filled 
with  beds.  My  i:  crib,"  as  Mrs.  Casey  called  it,  was  in 
the  middle  room.  There  were  no  doors,  and  of  this  I 
was  very  glad  at  first,  thinking  that  there  would  be 
more  chance  of  ventilation  ;  but  I  was  sorry  afterward, 
for  the  sewer-pipe  of  the  floors  above  burst,  and  the 
sewerage  poured  into  the  back  room  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  The  beds  and  coverings  were  the  dirtiest 
and  the  bedsteads  the  most  tumble-down  I  have  ever 
seen.  And  Mrs.  Casey  had  the  lying  hardihood  to  tell 
me  that  there  were  "  no  such  nice,  clean  beds  in  the 
ward."  Beyond  beds,  I  could  see  no  article  of  furni- 
ture. Many  of  the  men  did  not  undress  when  they  went 
to  bed.  Those  who  did,  and  the  women  too,  all  hung 
their  clothes  on  nails  driven  into  the  wall  immediately 
over  their  respective  pillows. 

But  to  return  to  the  front-room — the  parlor  of  the 
Casey  mansion.     In  addition  to  the  Casey  family,  there 


A  NIGHT  IN  AN  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE.    257 

were  fifteen  other  human  beings  who  proposed  to  pass 
the  night  in  that  underground  cellar  besides  myself. 
Some  of  the  men  and  women  stood  at  the  bar  tippling 
Mr.  Casey's  best  Bourbon  whisky  and  Jamaica  rum  at 
five  cents  a  tumbler!  and  much  they  seemed  to  enjoy 
it ;  for,  after  every  drink,  they  smacked  their  lips  in 
right  good  earnest  before  wiping  them  on  the  backs  of 
their  hands,  or  the  dirty  skirts  of  their  ragged,  washed- 
out  dresses — according  to  their  sex.  Others  were  seated 
around  the  stove,  others  on  the  floor  with  their  backs 
against  the  wall;  and  a  respectable-looking  man,  his 
wife,  and  their  little  girl,  sat  on  the  bed  near  the  en- 
trance-door, having  hired  it  for  the  night  for  the  ex- 
tortionate charge  of  forty  cents.  All,  men  and  women, 
were  either  smoking  or  chewing ;  and  all,  men  and 
women,  did  their  best  toward  floating  us  in  a  sea  of 
tobacco-juice.     It  was  sickening  to  a  degree. 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  stove  sat  four  men :  one 
cooking  a  red  herring  for  his  supper ;  one  Avaiting  to 
cook  two  slices  of  bullock's  liver  and  a  slice  of  salted 
pork,  wThich  lay  in  a  piece  of  brown  paper  on  his  knee ; 
another  eager  to  toast  a  salt  mackerel,  in  which  he  had 
invested  his  last  cent ;  and  the  fourth  munching  stale 
crackers  and  cheese-rind,  and  washing  them  dowm  with 
a  toby  of  Mr.  Casey's  any  thing  but  foaming  ale.  They 
were — Nigger  Joe ;  Mickey  McIIugh,  a  short,  middle- 
aged  man,  with  a  badly-broken  nose  and  a  strong  Irish 
brogue,  who,  I  am  told,  is  an  exceedingly  clever  "  watch- 
stuffer ;  "  Curly  Bill,  a  tall  raw-boned  young  canaller, 


258  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

with  black,  curling  hair  (hence  his  sobriquet),  shaven 
face,  and  a  very  long  nose ;  and  Lame  Pete,  a  short, 
stout,  surly-looking  man,  with  a  face  like  a  bull-dog, 
and  every  feature  in  it  proclaiming  him  to  be — what 
he  is— an  incorrigible  thief.  Lame  Pete  has  lately 
"  done  six  months "  in  Brooklyn,  and  consequently 
looked  tolerably  fresh  for  a  Water-Street  habitue.  I 
never  saw  a  man  with  thief  so  plainly  written  in  every 
lineament  of  his  face.  He  fully  comes  up  to  the  mark  of 
Addison's  well-known  epigram  on  a  rogue,  which  con- 
cludes with  the  following  comprehensive  summing-up  : 

"  With  all  these  tokens  of  a  knave  complete, 
Shouldst  thou  be  honest,  thou'rt  a  devilish  cheat." 

The  rest  of  the  company  included  Tommy  the  Bolt, 
a  young  man  with  a  remarkable,  crooked  nose,  who, 
I  understand,  varies  the  excitement  of  doing  chores 
around  Fulton  Market  with  a  little  occasional  t ill-tap- 
ping ;  Luny  Ted,  a  well-known  Water-Street  character, 
who  is  on  the  free  list  of  all  the  lodging-houses  in  con- 
sideration of  his  being  half-witted,  running  on  little 
errands,  carrying  messages  to  the  unfortunates  on  "  the 
island,"  fetching  coals,  and  generally  making  himself 
useful,  as  he  cannot  be  ornamental — poor  Luny  having 
a  very  big  head  and  a  face  like  a  pig's,  with  a  full, 
ragged  beard  of  very  dark  hue  ;  Jenny  Ryan,  common- 
ly known  as  Dirty  Jenny,  a  talkative  old  lady  from 
the  Emerald  Isle,  whose  costume  consisted  solely  of  an 
old,  washed-out  cotton  gown  and  a  shawl  which  cov- 
ered her  head  and  shoulders   (under-garments,  boots, 


A  NIGHT  IX  AN  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE.    250 

and  stockings,  are  vanities  which  she  has  long  es- 
chewed) ;  a  woman  with  a  fearful  black  eye,  whom 
every  one  addressed  as  Swell-head  and  who  was  in  a 
state  of  maudlin  intoxication  ;  a  heavy,  stout  woman, 
with  enormous  eyes,  who  answered  to  the  name  of 
Kate ;  a  great,  tall,  bony-looking  woman,  who  was 
dubbed  Green-horn  and  who  also  had  a  purple  decora- 
tion under  one  eye ;  a  quiet  man  and  his  wife,  who 
came  from  the  country,  and  who  retired  to  bed  soon 
after  I  arrived ;  and  the  respectable  family  who  had 
the  bed  by  the  entrance-door. 

If  "  misery  makes  a  man  acquainted  with  strange 
bed-fellows,"  I  can  vouch  that  the  assumption  of  it  did 
in  my  case.  Here  was  a  collection  of  beings  worthy 
of  exhibition  in  a  traveling  menagerie  ;  of  every  sex, 
color,  and  size ;  and  all  remarkable  for  their  training 
and  accomplishments.  There  was  not  one  of  them  who 
would  not  exclaim,  after  the  fashion  of  Lewis  Carroll : 

"  '  Avaunt,  dull  Virtue  ! '  is  Oxonia's  cry. 
'  Come  to  my  arms,  ingenious  Villainy  !  '  " 

There  was  much  of  their  lano-uasfe  which  I  could 
not  understand ;  but  I  heard  quite  enough  to  learn 
that  it  was  all  about  murder,  robbery,  the  "  island," 
the  Tombs,  the  "  cops,"  and  kindred  subjects. 

And  there  I  sat  on  my  three-legged  stool,  quietly 
smoking  my  pipe,  and  taking  in  the  whole  scene  and 
its  by-play.  One  by  one,  the  men  at  the  stove  moved 
away  as  soon  as  they  had  cooked  their  "  chuck,"  as 
they  called  their  bit  of  supper  (a  full  meal  is  termed  a 


•260  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

''square"),  iu  order  to  allow  others  to  take  their  place 
and  do  likewise ;  and,  as  the  savory  odors  of  broiled 
herring,  mackerel,  bullock's  liver,  and  salt  pork,  as- 
cended from  the  cooking-stove,  Tommy  the  Bolt  could 
resist  the  gnawings  of  his  hungered  epigastrium  no 
longer,  despite  his  publicly-avowed  determination  to 
be  economical  that  night.  He  suddenly  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and,  having  shaken  the  few  wits  which  poor  Luny 
Ted  boasts  into  full  working  order,  ordered  him  to  go 
to  the  butcher's  and  purchase  half  a  sheep's-head  for 
him,  and  to  the  fishmonger's  to  purchase  a  whole  cod's- 
head  ("  No  shoulders,  mind  you,"  suggested  Curly  Bill) 
for  himself. 

"  Hold  on  there,  Luny  !  "  cried  Mr.  Casey,  who  was 
endeavoring  to  give  a  semblance  of  lustre  to  a  bronzy- 
looking  tumbler.  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  no  such 
damned  stinking  cookin'  as  sheep's-heads  here  !  " 

The  Bolt's  eye  in  an  instant  flashed  murder  at  his 
inhospitable  host ;  and,  as  I  was  directly  on  the  bee- 
line  between  them  and  the  Bolt  had  a  heavy  tumbler 
in  his  hand,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  back  my  stool  a 
foot  or  two,  even  at  the  risk  of  losing  my  place  by 
the  stove.  The  Bolt  glared  murderously  at  Casey,  and 
Casey,  while  continuiDg  to  rub  the  recalcitrant  tum- 
bler, kept  his  bright  little  eye  steadfastly  fixed  on  the 
Bolt ;  and  then  Dirty  Jenny,  approaching  the  angry 
man  with  a  coaxing  but  cautious  "  Come  now,  Tommy, 
it's  not  yersilf  what'll  begin  a  muss  this  airly,"  turned 
the  threatened  tragedy  into  a  farce  by  suggesting  that 


A   NIGHT   IN  AN   UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE.     2G1 

it  would  be  much  better  for  him  to  spend  his  "  bit  "  in 
two  drinks — one  for  her  and  one  for  himself. 

The  Bolt  himself  was  forced  to  join  in  the  general 
laugh  which  greeted  the  turn  Jenny  had  given  to  the 
affair,  though  economy  once  more  exerted  its  sway  over 
him,  for  he  refused  to  "  step  up  to  the  bar." 

To  my  horror,  the  old  beldame  turned  suddenly 
from  the  Bolt  to  me,  put  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and, 
giving  me  a  bouncing,  rum-smelling  kiss  on  the  cheek 
before  I  divined  her  intention,  said  : 

"  Darlint,  now  it's  you  that'll  stan'  a  lone  owld  wid- 
der-woman  a  drap  o'  suthin',  jes  to  kape  the  cowld  out 
this  nio-ht." 

o 

I  protested  that  I  had  no  money.  God  forgive  me 
the  lie  !  I  had  a  five-dollar  bill  carefully  tacked  inside 
the  right  leg  of  my  trousers,  and  a  twenty-dollar  bill 
stowed  away  after  the  same  fashion  in  the  left  leg  ;  in- 
tending them  to  do  duty  according  to  the  emergency 
of  any  unforeseen  difficulty  in  which  I  might  find  myself 
placed.  I  had  a  solitary  five-cent  piece  in  my  trousers- 
pocket. 

By  way  of  restoring  general  harmony,  Curly  Bill, 
who  seemed  to  have  a  good  supply  of  money  for  one 
of  his  class,  ordered  a  "  set  up  "  all  round  and  called 
upon  Mickey  McHugh  to  sing  an  Irish  song. 

Mickey  started  one  of  those  curious  wailing  melo- 
dies peculiar  to  the  Irish  peasantry  and  the  general 
company  rolled  out  the  chorus  with  such  effect  that  the 
officer  on  the  beat  came  down. 


THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

In  the  confusion,  I  handed  my  tumbler  of  fusel- 
oil  to  Dirty  Jenny,  who  tossed  it  off  and  gave  me 
back  the  empty  tumbler  without  any  one  noticing  our 
actions. 

The  officer  asked,  "  What's  all  this  fighting  (!)  about," 
took  a  stiff  horn  of  Mr.  Casey's  whisky  at  Mr.  Casey's 
expense,  and  hurried  up  the  steps  again. 

Some  of  our  company  had  by  this  time  drunk  them- 
selves sufficiently  stupid  to  be  able  to  go  to  bed  and 
sleep  ;  but  the  others  resolutely  stuck  to  the  stove,  my- 
self among  the  number.  The  fact  is,  I  did  not  want  to 
share  Nigger  Joe's  humble  couch  longer  than  was  ab- 
solutely necessary ;  more  especially  as,  seeing  that  rum 
made  him  quarrelsome  (he  had  already  had  two  or 
three  very  wordy  altercations),  I  was  half  afraid  that, 
if  I  should  happen  to  doze  in  the  night  and,  by  acci- 
dent, kick  him,  he  would  think  it  his  bounden  duty  to 
retaliate  by  breaking  my  head. 

Mr.  Casey's  duties  now  compelled  him  to  "run 
about  lively."  Curly  Bill  was  doing  the  honors  freely, 
and  round  after  round  was  served  to  the  little  party 
who  hugged  the  fire.  They  were  the  "  choice  spirits  " 
among  Mr.  Casey's  patrons.  They  twitted  those  who 
slunk  off  to  bed,  sympathized  with  Mrs.  Casey  for  not 
being  able  to  drink  on  account  of  the  baby's  tender 
stomach,  joked  Dirty  Jenny  about  being  an  old  maid 
(Jenny  always  protests  that  she  is  not),  jeered  Swell- 
head  about  kissing  the  curb-stone,  swore,  laughed,  sang, 
and  had  several  little  friendly  scuffles,  and  were  as  mer- 


A  NIGHT  IX  AN  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE;    263 

ly  a  party  of  incorrigible  thieves  and  drunkards  as 
could  well  be  imagined. 

I  was  just  congratulating  myself  on  the  probability 
that  another  round  or  two  of  rum  would  send  the 
whole  party  to  bed,  when,  for  some  cause  which  I  was 
unable  then  or  afterward  to  discover,  Curly  Bill  took 
offense  at  something  which  Lame  Pete  said  or  did,  and 
Lame  Pete  just  ducked  his  head  in  time  to  avoid  Curly 
Bill's  tumbler,  which  was  shivered  against  the  edge  of 
the  bar-counter.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  describe  the 
scene  which  followed. 

In  an  instant  there  was  a  general  free  fight.  So 
sudden  was  the  onslaught  that  I  was  rolled  over,  stool 
and  all,  just  in  time  to  furnish  a  soft  falling-spot  for 
Mickey  McHugh,  who  was  knocked  down  by  Nigger 
Joe. 

The  women  who  had  not  gone  to  bed  screamed. 
Dirty  Jenny  particularly  distinguished  herself  by  in- 
voking "  arl  ther  sents,"  and  tearing  her  hair  in  a  fren- 
zied way.  The  women  who  had  gone  to  bed  rushed 
in,  and  then  one  and  all  of  the  females  joined  in  the 
fray. 

I  tried  to  get  out  of  the  place,  not  caring  to  run  the 
risk  of  sleeping  in  the  station-house  and  appearing  at 
the  Tombs  next  morning ;  but  Mrs.  Casey  had  locked 
the  door  and  taken  away  the  key  before  going  to  bed. 
So  I  jumped  behind  the  bar,  clearing  the  counter  like  a 
deer. 

The  scene  was  horrible  !    Men  hammered  one  anoth- 


261  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

e-r's  heads  on  the  floor,  the  women  wound  their  fingers 
in  one  another's  hair,  scratched,  fought,  and  screamed 
like  maniacs;  and  then,  down  came  the  police,  who 
hammered  on  the  door  with  their  clubs  for  admittance. 

All  was  still  in  a  moment ;  those  who  had  pre* 
viously  been  in  bed  hurried  back  again ;  the  others 
seized  the  stools,  squatted  down  around  the  stove,  and, 
smoothing  their  hair,  assumed  an  air  of  innocence. 

Mrs.  Casey  shouted  "  Coming  !  "  and  went  in  search 
of  the  key,  and,  as  she  unlocked  the  door,  I  stooped 
down  as  low  as  I  could  under  cover  of  my  hiding-place. 

"  What's  all  this  about,  Casey  ? "  asked  the  officer. 

Mr.  Casey,  with  masterly  suavity,  assured  him  that 
it  was  "  only  a  little  bit  of  pleasantry  between  Lame 
Pete  and  Jenny.  Pete  wanted  to  kiss  her,  an'  she 
wouldn't  let  him  unless  he  stood  her  a  drink  first." 

"  Casey,  that's  too  thin,"  rejoined  the  officer.  "  If 
there's  any  more  of  this  I  shall  take  some  cf  'em  in  and 
report  your  place.  Now,  all  of  you  to  bed ! "  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  the  crowd.  "  If  that  light  ain't  out 
in  five  minutes,  Casey,  I'll  be  down  again  and  know  the 
reason  why." 

"  Come,  now,  misther ,  be  aisy,  be  aisy,"  put  in 

Dirty  Jenny,  addressing  the  officer  in  a  wheedling  tone. 
"  Come  an'  take  a  drap  along  o'  me.  It's  not  Dan  Casey 
that'll  be  afther  refusin'  me  the  thrust  of  a  couple  o' 
drinks." 

"  Now,  Jenny,  you  go  to  bed,"  replied  the  officer, 
laughing ;  "  you've  been  up  late  every  night  this  week." 


A  NIGHT  IN  AN  UNDERGROUND  LODGING-HOUSE.    2G5 

Every  one  laughed,  including  Jenny,  at  this  sally  ; 
for  Jenny  has  been  up  late  every  night  for  the  last  thirty 
years. 

"  Come,  Casey,  shut  your  place  up,"  said  the  officer ; 
and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  and  his  fellow-officer  took 
their  departure. 

As  I  rose  up  from  behind  the  bar,  Dirty  Jenny 
pointed  to  me  and,  after  laughing  till  the  water  poured 
from  her  eyes,  called  out :  "  By  the  holy  powers,  jist 
look  where  the  cowardly  spalpeen's  been  a  hidin'  this 
blessed  while  ! " 

And  then,  addressing  herself  more  particularly  to 
me,  she  continued :  "  Now,  an'  did  yer  think  the  peleece- 
man  was  a-goin'  to  ate  yer  ?  If  it's  meeself  that  didn't 
think  yer  to  be  a  poore  man,  I'd  make  yer  sthan'  a 
roun'  o'  drinks  in  spite  of  all  the  peleece  in  the  ward." 

Mr.  Casey,  however,  thought  differently ;  and  he 
coolly  declared  his  intention  of  putting  the  light  out  if 
we  didn't  all  "  scurry."  He,  nevertheless,  paid  me  the 
compliment  of  carefully  examining  the  till  and  searching 
me  from  head  to  foot  before  he  would  allow  me  to  leave 
my  port-in-a-storm — the  back  of  his  bar.  Resistance 
was  useless.  Any  objection  on  my  part  would  have 
brought  the  whole  pack  of  hungiy  hounds  on  me.  For- 
tunately, he  did  not  discover  my  money.  It  was  sewed 
into  my  trousers,  immediately  below  the  knee. 

By  the  time  Mr.  Casey  had  done  with  me,  Nigger 
Joe  was  in  bed.  Five  minutes  after  I  had  ensconced 
myself  by  his  side,  he  was  apparently  sound  asleep  ; 

18 


2GG  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge  from  the  many-keyed  nasal 
chorus  which  was  soon  in  full  swing,  so  were  all  the 
rest.  I  think  it  must  have  been  about  one  o'clock  when, 
as  the  Bolt  prettily  expressed  it,  Mr.  Casey  "  doused 
the  glim  "  (put  out  the  lamp),  and  silence  and  darkness 
reigned  supreme  in  that  home  of  crime,  debauchery,  and 
drunken  revelry. 

As  I  lay  there,  beside  Nigger  Joe,  the  very  thought 
of  home,  of  wife,  and  children,  seemed  a  horrible  im- 
piety. I  dozed  for  a  moment,  and  I  dreamed  that  I  had 
left  the  lodging-house  and  had  reached  my  home.  Some 
dreadful  spectre  was  waving  me  back  from  my  own 
door  with  fearful  and  awsome  gesticulations.  I  was 
powerless.  My  limbs  refused  to  move.  I  experienced 
all  the  agony  which  must  sooner  or  later  fall  upon  the 
outcast  from  his  home.  I  determined  to  dare  this  devil 
who  boldly  interposed  his  terrible  presence  between 
me  and  my  belongings.  I  struggled  to  advance  a  hand, 
a  foot,  and  found  myself  transfixed.  The  minions  of 
my  evil  spirit  had  been  invoked  and  were  obeying  his 
behests  with  a  will.  One  had  seized  me  by  the  throat ; 
another  had  stabbed  me  in  the  side,  a  third  was  drag- 
ging me  to  the  ground.  With  a  yell  I  awoke,  and, 
instead  of  the  dread  spectre's  imprecations,  I  was  fa- 
vored with  a  choice  selection  of  oaths  from  Nigger  Joe, 
who  swore  that  he  had  been  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder 
for  ten  minutes  to  make  me  "  lie  still "  and  "  stop  fling- 
ing." The  stab  in  the  side  had  been  caused  by  Nigger 
Joe,  who  had  stolen  a  glass  of  liquor  while  Casey  was 


A  NIGHT  IN  AN  UNDERGROUND   LODGING-HOUSE.     2G7 

seeing  that  the  door  was  properly  locked  and  barred, 
having  to  spring  into  bed  with  the  tumbler  in  his 
hand  to  avoid  detection,  said  tumbler  eventually  finding 
its  way  under  my  fifth  rib  when  I  turned  over. 

But  a  more  distressing  enemy  than  any  spectre, 
because  more  real  and  tangible  (whether  it  jumped  or 
crawled,  I  cannot  asseverate ;  I  only  know  that  it  bit, 
and  sharply,  too),  soon  attacked  me,  and  with  such 
vigorous  assaults  that  my  fortress  of  patience  was 
quickly  stormed.  Tired  as  I  was,  and  suffering  from 
a  splitting  headache,  brought  on  by  the  clouds  of  to- 
bacco-smoke, the  odors  from  the  sewerage  which  was 
then  flooding  the  back-room,  the  smell  from  the  cooking, 
the  din  and  noise,  and  the  unnatural  excitement,  I  was 
compelled  at  last  to  crawl  in  search  of  that  three-legged 
stool  by  the  fire  which  I  had  looked  upon  with  such 
contempt  when  I  first  crossed  Mr.  Casey's  threshold. 
There  I  sat,  every  five  minutes  appearing  to  be  an  hour, 
cursing  under-ground  lodging-houses  in  general  and 
Mr.  Daniel  Casey's  in  particular,  and  wondering  if  the 
day  would  ever  break  again. 

Fortunately  for  me,  Mr.  Casey  was  interested  in  a 
gentleman  who  had  been  arrested  the  previous  evening, 
and  who  would,  necessarily,  appear  at  the  Tombs  at  the 
morning  examination.  My  landlord  was  therefore  out 
of  bed  early ;  and,  no  sooner  did  he  unlock  the  door, 
than  I  sprang  up  the  steps  on  to  the  sidewalk  with  the 
agility  of  a  kangaroo.  It  was  still  almost  dark,  and  I 
struck  for  Chatham  Street  to  take  a  car  home.     But, 


268  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND 

oh,  piling  up  of  agony  !  During  my  few  minutes  of 
dozing  and  nightmare,  Nigger  Joe  had  "  gone  through  " 
me.  I  must  walk  home  !  My  forlorn  hope — my  soli- 
tary five-cent  piece — was  gone,  and,  with  it,  my  cambric 
pocket-handkerchief,  in  the  corner  of  which  were  im- 
printed the  initials 

"A.  P." 


THE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM. 

"  Good-evening  to  you,  gentlemen." 

The  salutation  came  from  a  tall,  powerfully-built 
man,  as  lie  stepped  quietly  and  sedately  through  the 
folding-doors  leading  from  an  inner  apartment  into  a 
cozily-furnished  room  in  which  a  dozen  men  w^ere  clus- 
tered around  the  table.  The  hushed  whispers  in  which 
they  had  been  eagerly  talking  were  at  once  silenced,  as, 
with  an  air,  half  of  reserve,  half  of  mystery,  the  last 
comer  advanced  to  the  table  and  took  the  only  va- 
cant seat.  From  several  parts  of  the  room,  from  the 
table  itself,  came,  "  rap,  rap,  rap." 

"  Greeting  to  you,  my  dear  spirits  !  "  said  the  medi- 
um, as  he  cast  a  raptured  glance  at  nothing  and  waved 
his  hand  as  a  sign  to  the  spirits  to  control  their  impa- 
tience. 

Throwing  himself  back  in  the  spring  lounging-chair 
on  which  he  sat,  the  medium  at  once  appeared  to  be 
lost  in  thought — totally  unaware  of  the  presence  of  his 
visitors.  With  an  absent  air  he  passed  his  hand  three 
or  four  times  through  his  hair,  pressed  his  fingers 
against  his  pulse,  took  several  strong  respirations,  and 


270  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

then,  as  if  mechanically,  touched  a  small  bell  which 
stood  before  him  on  the  table. 

A  colored  boy  at  once  answered  the  summons. 

"  Bring  some  cigars  and  some  iced  water  for  these 
gentlemen,"  ordered  the  medium,  in  a  quick,  nervous 
tone  ;  "  and,"  he  added,  "  I  am  not  at  home  to  any  one 
this  evening.     Do  not  come  unless  I  ring  for  you." 

Even  this  slight  exercise  of  energy  seemed  to  ex- 
haust him,  for  he  again  threw  himself  back  languidly 
in  his  chair,  slowly  closed  his  eyes,  and  once  more  ap- 
peared to  be  utterly  lost  in  thought. 

The  cigars  were  brought  in,  and,  merely  remarking, 
"  Gentlemen,  I  presume  that  you  all  smoke,"  the  medi- 
um signed  to  the  servant  to  hand  them  around. 

Again  the  spirits  began  to  rap  with  startling  activi- 
ty. They  seemed  to  be  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
and  one  or  two  of  the  visitors  were  so  awed  that  they 
gave  an  unmistakable  shudder. 

"  Yes,  yes,  directly,"  said  the  medium,  without  open- 
ing his  eyes  and  as  if  holding  a  conversation  with  some 
unseen  person ;  and  then,  arousing  himself,  he  sighed 
deeply  and  asked  if  his  visitors  were  willing  that  the 
seance  should  commence. 

Of  course  they  were.  They  were  on  the  very  tip- 
toe of  expectation.  Their  hair  was  already  beginning 
to  stand  on  end  from  sheer  anticipation  of  the  dreadful 
mysteries  in  which  they  were  about  to  share,  and  their 
faces  were  flushed  and  their  fingers  clutched  nervously 
at  the  little  slips  of  paper  which  lay  in  heaps  before 


THE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM.  271 

them.  Wishing  to  keep  cool,  they  had  been  uncon- 
sciously wrought  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  nervousness. 
They  glanced  at  the  walls,  and  the  figures  on  the  paper 
startled  them.  They  peered  at  the  mirrors  as  though 
they  half-expected  to  see  the  form  of  some  fearful  spec- 
tre, invisible  to  them,  reflected  on  their  lustrous  surface. 
They  looked  uneasily  from  one  to  another,  and,  finally, 
like  a  group  of  frightened  animals,  they  stared  with 
fascinated  gaze  at  the  medium.  He  was  quiet,  cool, 
and  collected.  So  far  from  betraying  any  excitement, 
his  face  bore  an  expression  of  listless  ennui — a  look 
as  though  he  knew  he  had  to  go  through  that  which 
would  and  must  greatly  increase  the  feeling  of  ex- 
haustion— the  loss  of  power — from  which  he  was  al- 
ready evidently  suffering. 

With  a  gesture  of  extreme  weariness,  he  threw  two 
or  three  pencils  into  the  centre  of  the  table  and  re- 
quested all  to  write  the  names  of  the  spirits  with 
whom  they  desired  to  communicate  on  the  slips  of 
paper  lying  before  them,  and  then  he  again  relapsed 
into  a  sort  of  moody  abstractedness,  which  was  al- 
most pitiable  to  witness — he  seemed  so  beaten  down, 
as  it  were,  so  worn  out  and  threadbare  of  all  vital 
power. 

There  they  lay,  some  forty  or  fifty  little  folded  slips, 
heaped  together  in  the  middle  of  the  table — each  one 
bearing  the  name  of  some  friend  or  relative  or  man 
of  note,  who  has  passed  that  bourn  from  which  no 
traveler  returns. 


272  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

.  Seizing  one,  the  medium  passed  it  slowly  across  his 
forehead,  looking  steadily  at  the  table-cloth  the  while, 
and  muttering  incoherent  words  in  a  low  tone.  Sud- 
denty,  in  a  moment,  he  was  all  life  and  fire.  His  eyes 
sparkled,  his  nerves  seemed  to  have  returned  to  him 
all  at  once,  and  he  looked  at  least  ten  years  younger. 
Casting  a  searching  glance  around  him,  he  said : 

"  Gentlemen,  as  you  are  all  strangers  to  me,  you 

must  excuse  me  for  asking  which  of  you  is  W » 

B ?" 

There  was  no  necessity  for  repeating  the  question. 
A  fair,  earnest-faced  man  started  in  his  chair,  colored 
deeply,  and  said  firmly,  "  That  is  my  name." 

"  Mr.  B ,"  rejoined  the  medium,  speaking  slow- 
ly, distinctly,  and  somewThat  in  an  oracular  strain,  "  the 
spirit  of  Ellen  is  here  ;  "  and  then,  turning  in  his  chair 
and  looking  over  his  shoulder,  he  added,  "  is  that  not 
so,  Ellen  ?     Are  you  not  here  ?  " 

Kap,  rap,  rap,  came  sharply  on  the  table,  and  the 
man  interested  sat  with  parted  lips  and  bated  breath. 

"  Have  you  any  questions  to  ask  the  spirit  ? "  in- 
quired the  medium. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  visitor,  in  a  half-frightened 
tone ;  and  lie  turned  to  his  nearest  neighbor  and  whis- 
pered, "  Why,  Jim,  poor  Nell's  been  dead  fifteen  years. 
Isn't  it  horrible  ?     I  couldn't  ask  her  any  thing." 

Again  the  medium  picked  up  one  of  the  papers,  and 
passed  it  over  his  forehead  as  before.  A  violent  rap- 
ping was  immediately  begun. 


TIIE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM.  273 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  medium,  as  if  pacifying  some 
very  impatient  spirit ;  "  I  will  attend  to  you  next. 
George ." 

The  color  faded  slightly  from  the  face  of  a  man  who 
sat  facing  the  medium,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  The  spirit  of  Captain  C H is  here,"  said 

the  medium.     "  Would  Mr.  G H like  to  ask 

him  any  questions  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  sharply  responded  a  gentleman, 
who  had  so  far  looked  on  with  a  skeptical  sneer  playing 
round  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  sir,"  suggested  the  medium. 

"  Ask  him,"  said  Mr.  H ,  "  how  and  where  he 

died." 

The  question  was  put  by  the  medium  and  answered 
by  three  raps. 

"  The  spirit  says  he  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Get- 
tysburg," the  medium  announced,  with  closed  eyes,  and 
addressing  no  one  in  particular. 

"  Ask  him  if  he  has  met  I L in  heaven  ? " 

"  No ;  he  is  not  dead  yet.  He  is  living  in  San 
Francisco,"  was  the  reply  of  the  spirit. 

The  questioner  stared  and  moved  a  little  uneasily 
in  his  chair.  But  he  was  determined  to  catch  the  me- 
dium, if  possible,  and  he  braced  himself  up  to  the  en- 
counter once  more. 

"  Ask  him,"  he  resumed,  as  though  he  were  pro- 
pounding a  floorer,  u  where  he  was  born  ? " 

"  The  spirit  says  he  was  born  prematurely  while  his 


274  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

mother  was  on  her  voyage  from  New  York  to  Liver- 
pool," replied  the  medium. 

"  That  will  do,"  rejoined  the  skeptical  gentleman. 
"  I  acknowledge  that  you  have  answered  my  questions 
correctly.  How  you  do  it,  I  don't  pretend  to  know. 
But  I  still  believe  it  is  all  humbug." 

As  he  thus  relieved  his  mind,  he  glared  at  the  me- 
dium as  though  he  would  like  to  have  him  arrested  as 
a  common  cheat  and  impostor.  He  was  evidently  not 
inclined  to  a^ree  with  the  old  lines : 

"  Doubtless,  the  pleasure  is  as  great 
In  being  cheated  as  to  cheat." 

Notwithstanding  that  he  had  deliberately  made  one 
of  the  party,  he  seemed  to  regret  the  five-dollars  en- 
trance-fee which  he  had  paid  in  advance,  and  to  be 
very  disgusted  with  the  whole  affair.  Throughout  the 
evening  he  was  as  fidgety  as  a  young  beauty  whose 
fiance  has  not  kept  his  ball  engagement.  He  wanted 
to  stay,  and  he  wanted  to  get  away.  He  was  still  more 
sorely  tried  before  the  seance  was  over,  and  in  a  way, 
too,  which  he  little  dreamed  of. 

Several  of  the  other  visitors  crowded  round  him 
and  discussed  the  matter.  They  pointed  out  to  him 
the  utter  impossibility  of  a  medium,  who  had  never 
seen  or  heard  of  him  before,  being  able  to  answer  cor- 
rectly such  questions  as  he  had  put  by  means  of  any 
trickery,  and  eventually  they  so  far  restored  him  to 
good-humor  and  himself  that  he  offered  every  apology 
to  the  medium  for  having  interrupted  the  seance  by  his 


THE    SPIRIT-MEDIUM. 


L'.a 


remarks  and  especially  for  Laving  used  the  word  "  hum- 
bug." 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  I  do  not,  cannot,  and  will  not 
believe  that  my  brother's  spirit  has  been  here  in  this 
room.  I  do  not  understand  the  whole  thing.  It  is  a 
perfect  enigma  to  me ;  one  of  those  problems  which 
some  brains  can  and  others  cannot  solve,  I  suppose." 

The  seance  was  resumed ;  several  spirits  came  when 
called  upon,  marvelous  replies  were  given  to  difficult 
questions,  and  there  was  much  standing  of  hair  upon 
end.  Some  of  the  visitors  gradually  wore  a  haggard 
look.  Surprise  after  surprise  was  beginning  to  tell  on 
their  nervous  systems.  Others  treated  the  matter  light- 
ly and  laughed  heartily  at  the  disconcerted  looks  of 
their  friends  when  they  received  a  ready  and  correct  re- 
ply to  a  question  which  they  thought  to  be  a  poser. 
These  would  prompt  the  timid  ones  to  ask  difficult 
questions,  and,  though  not  affected  unpleasantly  by  the 
answers,  they  frankly  expressed  their  astonishment. 
Two  or  three,  among  whom  was  the  confirmed  skeptic, 
sat  silently  studying  and  taking  in  the  scene,  but  tak- 
ing no  active  part  in  it. 

Presently,  after  a  long,  whispered  conversation  writh 
his  next  neighbor,  one  man  wrote  a  name  on  a  slip, 
folded  it,  and  tossed  it  across  to  the  medium.  He  had 
all  along  been  an  earnest  watcher  and  listener,  but  had, 
thus  far,  maintained  a  masterly  inaction.  lie  regarded 
the  medium  with  a  look  of  intense  curiosity  as  he  saw 
him  pick  up  the  paper. 


'276  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

•     "  Is  this  spirit  here  ?  "  asked  the  medium. 

No  answer. 

"  Is  this  spirit  here  ?  "  repeated  the  medium. 

Still  no  answer. 

"  Is  this  spirit  here  ?  "  he  asked,  for  the  third  time. 

Not  a  sound  or  a  rap  came  to  relieve  the  suspense. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  skeptic,  with  a  chuckle ; 
"  how  is  this  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  command  the  attendance  of  spirits,"  said 
the  medium,  with  the  utmost  suavity.  "  I  only  obey 
their  commands  in  beinor  the  medium  of  their  commu- 
nications  when  they  choose  to  be  present." 

At  the  same  moment  he  handed  back  the  slip  of 
paper.  The  man  who  had  given  it  to  him  mechanically 
opened  it. 

"  By  Heavens  !  Hold  on,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I've  writ- 
ten the  wrong  Christian  name.  This  man  ain't  dead. 
It's  his  brother,  I  mean." 

"  If  the  man  be  not  dead,"  remarked  the  medium  as 
he  stole  a  quiet  glance  of  satisfaction  at  the  skeptic, 
whose  jaw  had  suddenly  fallen,  "  I  don't  see  how  his 
spirit  can  well  come  here.  But,"  he  added,  as  if  caught 
by  some  fresh  sensation,  and  turning  again  to  his  ques- 
tioner, "  there  is  a  spirit  standing  by  my  shoulder  who 
says  that  he  is  the  man  you  mean — he  says  his  name  is 

Henry  B ." 

The  man  sprang  from  his  seat  as  though  he  had 
been  shot. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  that's  the  name." 


THE   SPIRIT-MEDIUM.  277 

His  neighbor  again  whispered  in  his  ear  and  prompt- 
ed a  question. 

"  Will  you  ask  the  spirit  the  Christian  name  of  his 
brother?"  resumed  the  questioner  with  ill-suppressed 
excitement. 

Rap,  raj3,  rap,  went  the  table. 

"  The  spirit,"  said  the  medium,  "  says  that  he  will 
write  the  name  in  letters  of  blood  on  the  back  of  my 
hand." 

As  he  said  this,  he  drew  back  the  sleeve  of  his  coat 
and  his  shirt-cuff,  and  laid  his  left  hand  flat  on  the  table. 
Nearly  all  rose  to  their  feet  and  stood  gazing  as  though 
they  expected  to  see  the  devil  himself  appear  with  a 
pen  and  a  bottle  of  red  ink,  and  write  the  mystic  letters. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  But,  gradually,  faint  red 
lines  and  curves  began  to  show  themselves,  till,  at  last, 
there  was  the  word  Frank  displayed  in  clear,  bold  let- 
ters of  a  bright-red  color.  All  stared  with  amazement, 
the  color  was  so  perceptible,  though  not  palpable,  and 
the  name  was  correct.  One  could  almost  fancy  that 
one  heard  a  shiver  go  through  the  throng.  They  stared 
at  that  hand  as  though  it  were  something  in  itself  be- 
longing to  the  other  world.  Very  strong  ejaculations 
squeezed  out  through  clinched  teeth.  One  suggested 
this,  and  another  that ;  some  thought  it  was  done  by 
some  chemical  process,  only  to  be  dumfounded  by  the 
fact  that  the  medium  could  not  have  previously  known 
the  name.  One  man  looked  and  acted  as  though  he 
feared  he  was  bewitched.     He  made  hurriedly  for  the 


278  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

corner  of  the  room  in  which  he  had  placed  his  hat  and 
cane  and  declared  loudly,  that  he  wouldn't  "  stay  in 
the  place  another  minute  for  five  hundred  dollars."  He 
was,  however,  seized  on  by  a  friend,  who  endeavored  to 
persuade  him  to  remain. 

"  Come,  Mr. ,  let's  see  this  thing  out,"  expostu- 
lated the  skeptical  gentleman,  as  he  sat  beating  the 
devil's  tattoo  on  the  table.  "  I  don't  believe  in  the  spir- 
itual part  of  this  business  any  more  than  you  do.  But 
it's  damned  clever,  and  I  mean  to  go  through  with  it." 

All  this  while  the  medium  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
apparently  regardless  of  the  excitement ;  so  far  as  one 
could  judge  from  any  outward  signs,  heedless  of  the  very 
presence  of  his  visitors,  and  caring  naught  for  the  inter- 
ruption of  the  seance.  But  suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
gazed  sternly  first  at  one  and  then  at  another,  and, 
raising  both  hands  in  front  of  him,  motioned  them  to 
resume  their  seats.  He  seemed  by  a  sort  of  magnetic 
power  to  charm  them  into  obedience,  and  once  more 
they  manifested  their  awe,  their  amazement,  their  be- 
wilderment, their  skepticism,  or  their  disgust,  as  the  case 
might  be. 

Again  the  spirits  returned  to  the  charge,  and  again 
they  enabled  the  sorely-pressed  medium  to  resist  the 
attacks  of  his  adversaries.  Once  more  curiosity  had 
impelled  the  skeptical  man  to  ask  a  question.  The 
medium  was  about  to  reply  to  him,  when  several  raps 
came  quickly ;  he  paused,  shivered,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder. 


THE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM.  279 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  exclaimed  in  tones  of  great  distress ; 
"  I  will  tell  him." 

For  a  moment  he  lay  back  as  if  dreading  the  effect 
of  some  revelation  which  lie  knew  he  was  abont  to 
make,  and  then,  after  an  apparent  struggle  to  maintain 
his  firmness,  lie  announced  in  a  sepulchral  voice  : 

"  The  spirit  of  Ethel desires  me  to  tell  G 

H that  slie  is  present." 

"  God  in  heaven  ! "  cried  the  skeptic,  springing  to 
his  feet,  "  what  devilry  is  this  ?  How  do  you  know 
that  name  ? " 

That  he  was  agitated  beyond  measure  was  evident. 
His  chest  heaved,  his  nostrils  quivered,  and  his  eye 
flashed  with  almost  maniacal  fire. 

"  The  spirit  is  here,  sir,"  quietly  rejoined  the  me- 
dium. 

';  Spirit !  here  ! "  exclaimed  the  man  in  a  half-fren- 
zied tone.  "  The  lady  whose  name  you  have  mentioned 
is  alive  and  well." 

"  The  spirit  of  Ethel desires  me  to  tell  G 

H ,  that  she  is  present,"  repeated  the  medium,  sol- 
emnly and  as  though  the  words  were  wrung  from  him. 

The  skeptic  stood  motionless,  unable  to  utter  a  word, 
amazed  and  thunderstruck. 

Slowly,  and  with  apparent  difficulty,  the  medium 
rose  from  his  chair.  In  an  instant  the  gas  was  turned 
out,  and  there  roughly  but  clearly  delineated  on  the 
wall,  in  lines  of  fire,  were  the  features  of  a  woman. 

With  a  ciy  of  horror,  the  skeptic  sank  back  into  his 


280  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

chair.  The  gas  was  relighted  immediately,  and  all 
turned  to  the  man  who,  of  all  others  in  the  party,  had 
thought  himself  most  strong.  But  in  those  lineaments, 
roughly  as  they  were  pictured,  he  had  recognized  the 
features  of  his  lady-love. 

The  medium  dashed  to  a  cabinet,  and  produced  a 
decanter  of  brandy  and  a  wine-glass.  The  notes  of  a 
piano  were  heard  in  the  next  room,  the  folding-doors 
were  thrown  open,  and  a  brilliantly-lighted  room  and 
an  elegant  supper-table,  laden  with  delicacies,  were  dis- 
played to  view. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ? "  gasped  the  trembling 
skeptic. 

"  It  means,"  said  the  friend  whom  he  had  accom- 
panied to  the  seance,  "  that  we  have  all  been  having  a 
bit  of  fun,  which  has  perhaps  gone  a  little  too  far,  and 
that  we  are  now  going  to  have  a  jolly  good  champagne- 
supper." 

Yes,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  that  medium  was  a 
first-class  fraud.  Six  gentlemen,  who  were  in  the  se- 
cret, had  brought  with  them  to  the  seance  six  friends, 
who  were  not  in  the  secret.  By  means  of  a  care- 
fully-arranged  plot,  much  posting  as  to  names,  and 
facts,  and  dates,  prompting  of  questions,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  photograph,  a  little  phosphorus,  and  a 
chemical  preparation,  these  six  innocents  had  been 
thoroughly  taken  in  and  effectually  done  for.  Not  one 
of  them  had  the  barest  suspicion  of  the  truth  till  the 
time  for  the  denotement  had  arrived  and  the  prepara- 


THE  SPIRIT-MEDIUM.  231 

tious  for  the  transformation-scene  were  complete.     It 

was  not  till  many  days  afterward  that  they  heard  that 

the    fraudulent    medium   was   an    intimate   friend   of 

the  six  conspirators  and  was  no  other  than  your  very 

obedient  servant, 

"A.  P." 

19 


PAINTING  A  LA  MODE. 

Of  all  the  ungodly  places  at  six  o'clock  on  a  cold 
winter's  morning,  commend  me  to  the  Tombs  police- 
court.  How  the  spirit  (there  are  no  ghosts  nowadays) 
of  Mark  Tapley  would  revel  in  its  horrors — the  chilling 
atmosphere,  the  gloom,  the  repulsive  associations  of  the 
place,  the  knowledge  that  one  is  within  a  few  feet  of 
some  five-and-twenty  human  "beings  whose  hands  are 
indelibly  stained  with  the  life-blood  of  their  fellows, 
and,  last  and  more  realistic,  because  more  immediate, 
that  dreadful  pen  of  poor,  downfallen  humanity,  the 
"  drunk  and  disorderlies "  collected  at  the  down-town 
station-houses  during  the  night,  who  are — some  with 
trembling  and  shamefacedness,  some  with  insolent  bra- 
vado— awaiting  the  coming  of  the  magistrate  before 
starting  on  their  inevitable  trip  to  "  the  island  "  for  ten 
days'  change  of  air.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  you  have 
to  stamp  your  toes  and  blow  on  your  fingers  for  a  good 
two  hours  in  this  scene  before  the  magistrate  arrives, 
and  I  think  that  even  the  exacting  spirit  of  Mr.  Tapley 
would  own  that  he  had  for  once  found  his  much-coveted 
opportunity  of  being  jolly  under  adverse  circumstances. 


PAINTING  2  LA  MOLE.  283 

I  was  thoroughly  depressed  when  I  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance at  the  early  examination  at  the  Tombs  on  the 
only  morning  I  ever  did  appear  there.  As  it  was  for 
the  first,  so  I  trust  it  was  for  the  last  time.  Warmly 
as  I  was  clothed  and  rapidly  as  I  had  walked  from  the 
hotel  where  I  had  passed  the  night,  the  howling  cold 
snap  and  driving  rain  had  thoroughly  chilled  me.  I 
had,  too,  seen,  here  and  there  on  my  route,  the  children 
of  misery  and  wretchedness,  stealing  out  from  their  un- 
paid-for  night's  shelter  in  some  dark  door-way ;  and,  as 
I  hurried  up  the  steps  leading  to  the  gloomy-looking 
entrance  of  the  Tombs,  I  could  not  refrain  from  ex- 
claiming with  poor  heart-broken,  crazed  Lear  . 

"  Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm, 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  looped  and  windowed  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these !  " 

The  next  minute  I  was  in  the  court-room. 

By-tie- way,  I  may  as  well  state  at  once  that  I  was 
neither  "  a  felony,"  nor  "  a  larceny,"  nor  "  a  brutal  as- 
sault." The  officers  have  a  curious  habit  of  speaking 
of  their  prisoners  as  being  "  brutal  assaults,"  "  knuckle- 
dusters," "  knife-cases,"  etc.,  alluding,  of  course,  to  the 
charge  on  which  they  have  been  arrested.  I  was  not 
even  that  generally  humble  and  always  much-despised 
creature — a  "  prosecutor."  When  I  first  heard  a  half- 
starved-looking  little  man  spoken  of  as  a  "  knife-case," 
I  eyed  him  with  considerable  curiosity.     I  had  read  of 


284:  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  marvels  of  Indian  jugglery  and  Japanese  legerde- 
main ;  but  I  thought  it  must  trouble  even  those  ac- 
complished heathen  artists  to  convert  themselves  into 
"  knife-cases." 

A  few  more  such  graphic  descriptions,  however, 
soon  enlightened  me,  and  I  began  to  turn  my  attention 
to  the  business  which  had  brought  me  to  the  Tombs  on 
that  inclement  Monday  morning — a  study  of  the  "  drunk 
and  disorderlies."  There  was  every  specimen  of  the 
genus — from  the  "  first  offense"  to  the  "  incorrigible" — 
a  gathering  worthy  of  the  pencil  of  a  Hogarth.  At  first, 
I  was  inclined  to  think  that  I  should  be  troubled  with 
Vembarras  des  richesseSj  like  the  medical  student  who 
visited  a  battle-field  for  the  first  time,  in  the  hope  of 
securing  "  a  subject."  I,  too,  was  in  search  of  a  subject. 
I  intended  to  make  a  temporary  investment  in  one  of 
the  many  eligible  specimens  before  me,  and  the  only 
trouble  with  me  was,  as  was,  doubtless,  the  case  with 
the  medical  student — which  to  choose.  I  scanned  them 
all  carefully,  studied  their  good  and  bad  points,  and 
appraised  them  one  after  another,  till,  at  last,  even  some 
of  the  most  brazen-faced  hung  their  heads  and  concealed 
their  features. 

I  heard  afterward  that  I  was  suspected  of  being  an 
officer  in  citizen's  dress,  present  for  the  purpose  of  prov- 
ing previous  convictions  against  old  offenders. 

"  Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all !  " 

However,  I  made  my  choice. 

But,  Vhomme  propose  et  Dieu  dispose.    That  stern 


PAINTING  A   LA  MODE.  285 

dictator  of  the  law — the  sitting  magistrate — came  very 
near  "upsetting  my  apple-cart."  One  "by  one,  he  or- 
dered off  the  most  likely  examples  to  "  the  island ; "  and, 
when  the  very  one  of  all  others  I  had  set  my  heart  upon 
was  sentenced  to  share  the  same  fate  with  them,  and  to 
join  the  ranks  of  monarchs  retired  from  business,  my 
heart  sank  within  me  and  I  could  almost  have  cried 
with  vexation.  What  to  me  was  the  miscarriage  of 
justice  at  such  a  time  ?  I  was  bent  on  a  certain  pur- 
pose, and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that,  if  that  one  par- 
ticular personage  was  afforded  the  alternative  of  going 
to  "  the  island  "  or  handing  over  five  dollars  to  the 
treasury  of  the  city  and  county  of  New  York,  the  five 
dollars  should  be  forthcoming  at  all  hazards.  But  the 
judge  would  not  give  me  the  ghost  of  a  chance,  and, 
to-day,  I  am  a  richer  man  by  the  sum  of  Hve  dollars. 

But  there  was  still  another  and  unforeseen  oppor- 
tunity for  me.  Almost  the  last  case  called  up  was  that 
of  a  Dutchman,  who  was  charged  with  beating  his  wife ; 
and  the  unhappy  wife's  eyes  and  nose  were  pretty  com- 
petent and  convincing  witnesses  against  him.  He  was 
taken  below ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  lost  to  the  sight, 
he  immediately  became  dear  to  the  memory  of  his  bet- 
ter half^  who  burst  out  crying  as  she  turned  to  leave 
the  court-room.  Here,  then,  was  my  chance.  A  few 
sympathetic  words  would  stand  me  in  need  for  an  in- 
troduction, and,  by  dint  of  a  little  management,  I  should 
be  in  possession  of  a  "  subject.1' 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you ;  but  cheer  up,  he  will 


286  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

soon  be  back  again,"  I  remarked,  in  the  most  sympa- 
thetic of  tones,  as  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  sobbing 
woman  across  the  hall. 

She  accepted  my  sympathy  with  a  thankful  glance 
and  sobbed  more  bitterly  than  ever. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  ? "  I  asked. 

More  sobs. 

The  situation  was  becoming  rather  embarrassing, 
and  I  thought  I  would  try  a  more  direct  attack ;  so  I 
observed,  quite  incidentally,  of  course,  "  That  is  a  fear- 
fill  black-eye  your  husband  has  given  you." 

"  Vas  das  you  say  \ "  she  inquired,  in  an  eager,  ner- 
vous tone. 

u  That  is  a  fearful  black-eye  your  husband  has  given 
you,"  I  repeated. 

"  Vas  you  ken  \  Vas  you  do  ? "  she  asked,  half 
in  anger  and  half  with  the  air  of  an  injured  indi- 
vidual. 

I  began  to  be  more  than  half  afraid  that  the  conse- 
quent symptoms  which  generally  follow  the  prosecu- 
tion of  a  husband  by  his  wife  were  about  to  exhibit 
themselves  "  full  out,"  as  the  doctors  say  when  children 
have  the  measles  "  nicely."  The  poor  woman  was  fast 
forgetting  the  cowardly  blows  she  had  received  and 
was  already  thinking  more  of  the  good-for-nothing  fel- 
low on  his  way  to  prison  than  of  herself.  But  her 
features,  her* dress,  and  the  neat  arrangement  of  her 
hair,  proclaimed  her  to  be  respectable,  though  very 
poor.     So  I  thought  I  would  attack  her  respectability 


PAINTING  2  LA  MODE.  237 

as  a  forlorn  hope,  trusting  that  it  might  prove  to  be  a 
weaker  and  more  assailable  point. 

"  It  will  be  a  dreadful  thing  for  a  respectable  woman 
like  you  to  have  to  go  about  in  that  disfigured  state," 
I  artfully  put  in,  speaking  very  slowly  and  distinctly, 
so  that  she  might  understand  me. 

"  Yah,"  she  replied ;  "  but  vas  can  I  do  ? " 

I  chuckled  quietly  over  what  I  thought  to  be  the 
coming  success  of  my  diplomacy  and  assured  her,  in 
convincing  tones,  that  I  took  so  much  interest  in  her 
sad  case  that,  if  she  would  place  herself  in  my  charge 
and  come  with  me,  she  should  be  subjected  to  a  process 
by  which  all  traces  of  the  ugly  marks  on  her  face  should 
be  quickly  removed,  and  that  thus  she  would  be  freed 
from  any  unpleasant  remarks  and  impertinent  inquiries 
from  her  neighbors. 

How  wrong  I  was  !  How  thoroughly  I  had  mis- 
taken my  "  subject ! "  The  woman  cast  one  terrified 
glance  at  me,  threw  her  thick  woollen  shawl  over  her 
baby,  ejaculated  "  Der  Teufel ! "  and  fled  down  the 
steps  into  the  street  like  a  startled  deer. 

I  am  morally  certain  that  she  either  took  me  for  his 
Satanic  majesty  or  an  alchemist,  an  astrologer  or  a  sor- 
cerer, or  some  other  bedeviled  representative  of  human- 
ity. She  did  not  even  once  look  behind  her,  and  she 
was  soon  lost  to  view. 

There  I  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  not  knowing 
whether  to  laugh  or  to  feel  disconsolate.  I  did  neither. 
I  vented  my  astonishment  and  vexation  in  a  long,  low 


288  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

whistle.  That  prolonged  whistle  did  more  for  me  than 
all  my  diplomacy  had  done.  By  causing  them  to  laugh, 
it  drew  my  attention  to  two  women  who  had  been 
standing  by  my  side  and  quietly  listening  all  the  while 
to  what  had  passed  between  the  Dutchwoman  and  my- 
self.    I  was  almost  startled  out  of  my  sense  of  propriety. 

"  Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me  ? 
The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?     Come,  let  me  clutch  thee." 

I  had  thought  that  the  unaccommodating  judge  had 
locked  up  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  with  a  disfig- 
ured face ;  and  yet,  standing  there,  face  to  face  with 
me,  was  a  subject  equally  as  good  as,  perhaps  better  for 
my  purpose  than,  the  one  who  had  so  unceremoniously 
slipped  through  my  fingers.  She  had  a  splendidly- 
decorated  eye,  and  how  I  had  managed  to  miss  her  I 
do  not  know.  I  dashed,  at  once,  in  medias  res,  and 
asked  her  how  she  had  contrived  to  get  off  going  to 
the  island.  She  told  me  that  it  was  her  first  visit  to 
the  Tombs  from  that  ward,  and  that,  escaping  recogni- 
tion, the  judge  had  let  her  off  on  the  promise  of  refor- 
mation. 

"  And  I  do  hope,  Mary,  as  you'll  keep  your  prom- 
ise," put  in  her  companion,  who,  as  I  afterward  learned, 
was  her  eldest  sister. 

"  Say,  what's  that  you  were  saying  to  that  woman 
about  taking  out  black-eyes  ? "  inquired  Mary,  with 
marked  interest  and  without  paying  the  slightest  at- 
tention to  her  sister's  remark.  "  You  see  I've  got  a 
pretty  "bad  'un,  and  it'll  be  worse  to-morrow.     I  don't 


PAINTING  A  LA  MODE. 

live  down  in  this  ward  and  I  don't  want  to  go  home 
with  such  a  knuckle-kiss  as  this." 

I  entered  into  a  long  and  confidential  conversation 
with  Mary  and  her  sister ;  the  result  of  which  was  the 
transfer  of  fifty  cents  from  my  pocket  to  Mary's  and  an 
arrangement  that  we  should  meet  again  at  eleven  o'clock 
— not  in  the  same  spot,  Mary  strongly  objected  to  that — 
on  the  angular  piece  of  sidewalk  at  the  junction  of  the 
Bowery  and  East  Broadway,  in  Chatham  Square.  The 
fifty  cents  was  to  pay  for  Mary's  breakfast.  The  "  re- 
cess "  (it  is  astonishing  how  quickly  one  picks  up  police- 
court  technical  phrases)  was  to  give  me  a  chance  to  take 
my  daily  cold  bath,  get  some  breakfast,  and  read  the 
newspapers. 

Now,  the  reader  will  naturally  ask,  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this  ? "  Well,  I  have  a  straightforward 
answrer  to  the  inquiry.  The  other  day  I  wras  strolling 
along  the  Bowery,  when  a  printed  slip  was  thrust  into 
my  hand  by  a  half-clad,  shivering,  blue-nosed  man,  who 
looked  as  though  he  wTould  like  to  drink  a  pint  of  rum, 
and  sit  on  a  "  Morning-glory "  cooking-stove  till  it 
boiled,  in  order  to  warm  himself.  It  had  a  pica  head- 
ing, which  read — 

"Why  wear  a  Black-Eye?" 

My  attention  was  at  once  attracted.  The  mere  pro- 
pounding of  such  a  question  was  a  totally  novel  idea  to 
me.  The  only  black-eyes  that  I  remember  to  have  worn 
were  worn  out  twenty  years  ago  ;  the  last  one  after  my 
last  school-boy  fight. 


'290  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

•     I  read  on.     The  advertisement  went  on  to  say  that 

Mr. ,  of  No.  —  Bowery,  was  ready  and  willing,  for 

a  stipulated  sum,  to  remove  all  traces  of  "  falls,  tumbles, 
blows,  personal  encounters"  (surely  they  must  include 
blows  !),  "  natural  imperfections,  skin-blotches,  scars, 
burns,  and  scalds,"  by  a  "  purely  harmless  process,"  and 
"  without  pain  or  inconvenience." 

"  What  a  benefactor  to  suffering  humanity  must  that 
man  be  !  "  I  mentally  exclaimed. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  slip  I  read,  "  Discoloration 
around  the  eye  effectually  concealed,  in  artistic  style, 
for  from  two  to  five  dollars." 

I  am  naturally  of  an  inquisitive  temperament,  and, 
I  confess,  my  curiosity  was  greatly  excited  by  this  re- 
markable advertisement.  I  had  heard  of  Madame  Ea- 
ch el  and  her  " beautiful  forever"  business;  but  I  had 
also  heard  that  she  had  been,  even  if  she  is  not  now, 
imprisoned  in  Newgate  as  a  common  impostor.  I  had 
also  heard — but,  oh,  "  tell  it  not  in  Gath  !  " — that  some 
of  the  young  beauties  of  New  York  are  not  unbelievers 
as  to  the  merits  of  pigments  and  cosmetics.  But  here 
was  a  gentleman  who  struck  out  boldly ;  who  not  only 
openly  advertised  his  occupation,  but  advertised  that 
what  he  did  was  done  "  in  artistic  style."  My  desire 
to  test  his  artistic  ability  was  irrepressible ;  but,  as  I 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  run  my  eye  against  a  post,  or 
to  get  some  one  to  put  my  head  in  "  a  friendly  l  chan- 
cery '  suit,"  in  order  to  test  it  personally,  I  thought  I 
would  pay  a  substitute  to  do  duty  for  me,  and  the 


PAINTING  A  LA  MODE.  291 

most  likely  place  from  which  to  enlist  a  substitute  was, 
I  thought,  one  of  the  Metropolitan  police-courts.  So, 
•  as  I  pondered  over  the  matter  with  the  aid  of  a  cigar 
one  evening,  I  determined  to  go  to  the  Tombs  next 
morning,  in  spite  of  having  to  exchange  my  comfort- 
able  den  for  a  hotel  bedroom  for  the  night — no  small 
sacrifice  to  one  who  loves  and  respects  his  "  den."  And 
I  have  one  that  I  certainly  love  and  respect : 

"  In  tattered  old  slippers  that  toast  at  the  bars, 
And  a  ragged  old  jacket  perfumed  with  cigars, 
Away  from  the  world,  with  its  toils  and  its  cares, 
I've  a  snug  little  kingdom  up  four  pair  of  stairs." 

That  is  just  my  case.  No  more  and  no  less.  And 
I  am  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 

At  eleven  o'clock  precisely,  I  was  on  the  spot  ap- 
pointed for  my  meeting-place  with  Mary,  whom  I  had 
arranged  to  escort  to  this  black-eye-effectually-concealing 
artist's  studio  in  the  Bowery.  She  was  a  few  minutes 
late.  But  that  did  not  trouble  me  so  much  as  the  fact, 
which  I  quickly  discovered,  that  she  had  drunk  some- 
thing a  little  stronger  for  breakfast  than  hot  coffee. 
She  did  not  attempt  to  deny  the  soft  impeachment. 
Oh,  where  were  those  promises  of  reformation  which 
she  had  made  to  the  judge  only  a  couple  of  hours  be- 
fore ! 

"  When  the  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a  saint  would  be  ; 
"When  the  devil  got  well,  the  devil  a  saint  was  he." 

And  so  it  was  with  the  unfortunate  victim  of  alcohol 
I  had  enlisted  in  my  service.     She  was  far  from  intoxi- 


292  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

cated,  but  I  was  considerably  nonplussed  when  she 
wanted  to  take  my  arm  as  we  walked  up  the  Bowery. 
This  request  I  absolutely  refused  to  comply  with,  and< 
soon  subdued  her  into  a  proper  feeling  of  respect  by 
intimating  that  she  had  not  yet  received  the  dollar 
which  was  to  be  her  remuneration  and  that  she  ap- 
peared to  be  more  than  likely  not  to  receive  it.  From 
that  moment,  till  we  rang  at  the  bell  of  a  back-room  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  house  mentioned  in  the  artist's 
advertisement,  nothing  could  have  been  more  circum- 
spect than  her  behavior. 

The  artist   himself,  palette  and  brushes  in   hand, 
replied  to  the  summons. 

"  Mr. ,  I  presume  ? "   I  said. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Walk  in,"  he  replied  ;  and,  as  he  politely 
ushered  me  in,  he  shut  the  door  in  Mary's  face. 

I  was  not  sorry  for  this,  for  it  gave  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  explaining  matters  to  him  a  little. 

"  You  paint  out  black-eyes,  I  believe,"  I  remarked, 
blurting  the  business  out  rather  bluntly. 

My  artist  assented  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
"  I  want  you  to  practise  your  art  on  the  young 
woman  outside,"  I  said. 

"  Ah !  Thank  you,  I  don't  take  that  kind  of  busi- 
ness," he  replied,  with  a  slightly  offended  air.  "  I  don't 
paint  any  but  the  upper  classes." 

I  was  about  to  exclaim,  "  The  devil  you  don't ! " 
when  I  stopped  myself,  and  explained  to  him  the  sim- 
ple cause  of  my  paying  him  a  visit  and  who  the  woman 


PAINTING  2  LA  MODE.  293 

was,  and  ended  by  begging  him  not  to  disappoint  me 
after  I  Lad  taken  so  much  trouble  in  the  matter.  After 
turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  for  a  few  moments, 
he  graciously  condescended  to  comply  with  my  petition, 
and  he  also  graciously  condescended  to  take  his  hVe- 
dollar  fee  after  he  finished  his  work.  How  the  world 
does  love  to  deceive  itself ! 

Mary  was  called  in  and  requested  to  remove  her 
bonnet.  This  she  did  with  much  simpering  and  gig- 
gling and  then  took  her  seat  in  a  large  velvet-cushioned 
chair,  similar  to  those  in  use  in  barbers'-shops.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  artist  opened  his  box  of  paints  and  pig- 
ments, and  began  to  compound  various  tints  of  flesh- 
color,  from  the  rosiest  to  the  whitest.  He  went  about 
it  in  the  most  business-like  way,  as  though  he  was  about 
to  begin  the  head  of  a  Madonna  for  the  next  exhibition 
of  the  Academy  of  Design ;  and  he  moved  about  with 
an  air  of  dignity  which  was  superbly  ludicrous  consid- 
ering the  branch  of  the  art  of  painting  which  he  follows. 
While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Mary  thoroughly  inspected 
the  room  and  its  contents,  scrutinizing  every  thing,  and 
peering  into  corners  and  cupboards  in  a  way  that  at- 
tracted my  attention.     I  requested  her  to  sit  down. 

"  Yes,  I'm  goin'  to,  now,"  she  replied,  as  she  resumed 
her  seat  in  the  velvet-cushioned  chair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  I  asked,  feeling  rather  puz- 
zled at  the  tone  of  her  reply. 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  "  I  was  lookin'  to  see  if  there 
was  any  of  them  photograph  things  about.     I  don't 


294  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

want  to  have  my  portrait  took  for  no  rogues'  gallery. 
I  don't  know  wlio  you  are,  and  I  don't  trust  nobody. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  give  no  chance,  anyway." 

The  artist  and  I  both  laughed  and  assured  her  that 
we  had  no  sinister  intentions  of  that  sort,  and  that,  as 
soon  as  her  eye  was  properly  painted,  she  would  be  al- 
lowed to  depart  in  peace  and  safety,  as  far  as  we  were 
concerned. 

The  eye-painter  then  approached  his  subject  and, 
with  a  small  sponge,  carefully  wiped  all  that  part  of 
her  face — the  left  eye  and  cheek — which  was  discolored. 
Having  done  this  to  his  satisfaction,  he  seized  his  pal- 
ette and  brushes,  and,  striking  the  attitude  of  artistic 
genius,  set  to  work  in  earnest.  He  first  of  all  painted 
the  discolored  parts  with  a  colorless  pigment,  which 
seemed  to  dry  very  rapidly,  and  every  now  and  then 
requested  the  woman  to  open  her  eye,  in  order  to  see 
whether  it  would  dry  without  cracking.  One  or  two 
little  bits  like  gold-beater's  skin  split  off  from  the  sur- 
face, and  he  reduced  the  thickness  of  the  pigment  by 
mixing  a  small  quantity  of  some  fluid  with  it. 

As  I  sat  there,  intently  watching  the  operation,  I 
could  not  help  thinking  of  the  picture  of  Vandyck  in 
his  studio  (the  artist  was  not  unlike  the  portraits  of 
the  great  painter)  and  feeling  disgusted  at  such  a  hor- 
rible prostitution  of  so  glorious  an  art  as  painting — for 
this  man  is  really  a  painter  by  profession.  The  walls 
of  his  studio  were  hung  with  pictures,  though  not  of  a 
very  high  class,  of  his  own  painting,  and  an  unfinished 


PAIXTIXG  A  LA  MODE.  295 

head  was  on  an  easel  in  the  corner.  He  worked  away  at 
the  woman's  face  with  all  the  delicacy  of  touch  of  a  min- 
iature-portrait painter,  putting  a  touch  here  and  a  touch 
there,  and  then  stepping  back  to  see  the  effect  of  it. 

"Just  a  little  too  bright,"  he  would  say,  speaking 
to  himself,  and  immediately  he  would  proceed  to  tone 
the  coloring  down  a  little. 

In  this  way  he  steadily  worked  on,  the  discolora- 
tion gradually  showing  fainter  and  fainter  through  the 
pigment,  till  at  last  it  was  invisible  altogether.  A  few 
finishing  touches  completed  the  process,  which  occupied 
about  h*  ve-and-forty  minutes ;  and  then,  with  an  air  of 
triumph,  he  turned  to  me  and  said : 

"  There,  sir ;  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  The  most 
successful  effort  I  have  made  for  some  time." 

The  whole  thing  was  certainly  admirably  done. 
The  enameling  was,  of  course,  apparent  on  examina- 
tion, but  I  doubt  if  any  casual  observer  would  have 
detected  it.  Certainly,  the  woman  might  have  walked 
the  streets  from  morning  till  night  and  no  one  would 
have  suspected  that  she  had  a  very  bad  black-eye.  The 
artist  said  that  it  was  painted  just  at  the  right  time. 
The  swelling  of  the  flesh  had  all  subsided  and,  conse- 
quently, there  would  be  no  need  of  a  second  painting, 
as  is  the  case  when  the  bruise  is  very  recent.  I  had 
supposed  that  the  woman  had  got  damaged  the  night 
before,  but,  in  answer  to  my  inquiry  on  this  point,  she 
told  me  that  her  "  eye  "  was  three  days  old. 

On  consulting  the  lookin^-^lass,  Marv  was  consider- 


298  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

ably  surprised  at  first,  but  her  surprise  soon  gave  way 
to  expressions  of  delight.  She  declared  that  she  could 
hardly  believe  it,  and  asserted  that  she  had  never 
looked  so  well  in  her  life  before. 

"  I  really  look  quite  nice  and  handsome,"  she  said. 
"  I'd  like  to  go  and  have  my  portrait  took  now  if  I  had 
the  money." 

I  laughed  heartily.  I  could  not  help  it,  for  Mary 
was  as  unprepossessing  a  specimen  of  female  loveliness 
as  one  often  sees.  But  it  has  always  struck  me  that 
the  ugly  and  the  vulgar  are  among  the  photographer's 
best  patrons.  Mary's  vanity  recalled  to  me  Mr.  Saxe's 
epigram  "  on  an  ugly  person  sitting  for  a  daguerreo- 
type: " 

"  Here  Nature  in  her  glass — the  wanton  elf — 
Sits  gravely  making  faces  at  herself; 
And,  while  she  scans  each  clumsy  feature  o'er, 
Repeats  the  blunders  that  she  made  before." 

I  paid  Mary  her  one  dollar,  the  price  she  had  stipu- 
lated for,  after  much  haggling,  for  allowing  her  eye  to 
be  painted  for  my  amusement  and  edification  and  at 
once  dismissed  her.  As  I  handed  the  accomplished  ar- 
tist  his  fee  of  five  dollars,  he  handed  me  a  cigar,  and, 
while  I  was  lighting  it,  I  took  the  liberty  of  making 
one  or  two  impertinent  inquiries  about  his  strange 
business. 

"  Do  you  have  much  of  this  kind  of  work  to  do  \  " 
I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied ;  "  I  generally  have  two  or 


PAINTING  2   LA   MODE.  097 

three  sittings  a  day.  Some  ladies  coine  to  me  regular- 
ly. I  have  one  lady  patron  who  has  a  very  ugly  and 
deep  scar  on  her  temple.  She  comes  to  me  twice  a 
week,  wet  or  dry,  to  have  it  filled  and  enameled." 

"  Why,  she  must  be  a  valuable  customer  to  you,"  I 
said. 

"  Well,  she  pays  me  so  much  a  quarter.  I  have  an- 
other lady  patient  who  is  cursed  with  skin-blotches  at 
different  seasons  of  the  year.  Sometimes  she  comes 
here  three  or  four  times  a  week  when  the  eruption  is 
out  on  her  face ;  in  fact,  whenever  she  is  going  out  to 
an  entertainment  or  the  theatre,  or  is  going  to  receive 
at  home.  She  pays  me  so  much  a  visit.  But  I  make  a 
reduction  in  my  fees  to  her,  as  she  comes  so  often." 

"  Are  there  any  other  members  of  your  profession 
who  paint  human  faces  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  only  know  of  one,"  he  replied,  "  and  he  doesn't 
amount  to  much.  Xearly  all  first-class  drug-stores,  how- 
ever, keep  an  assistant  who  can  paint  out  a  black-eye.'' 

"  Indeed  !  "  I  remarked. 

"  Yes,"  he  rejoined.  "  But  they're  not  artists. 
Their  work  is  very  badly  done,  easily  detected,  and 
lasts  no  time.  It  requires  a  real  artist  to  do  the  thing 
well  and  effectually.  Why,  if  that  woman  is  careful, 
the  pigments  I  have  put  on  her  face  will  not  wear  off 
till  all  the  discoloration  has  disappeared.  They  will 
last  at  least  a  fortnight." 

My  artist  then  mentioned  to  me  the  names  of  sev- 
eral of  the  leading  drug-stores  in  the  city  where  eye- 
20 


298  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

painting  is  done,  astonishing  me  no  little  at  the  esti- 
mate he  gave  me  of  the  number  of  faces  daily  disfig- 
ured among  the  young  men  of  the  upper  classes.  I 
thanked  him  for  his  information  and  courtesy  and  took 
my  leave  ;  and,  as  I  wended  my  way  down-stairs,  I 
muttered  James  Russell  Lowell's  lines : 

"  But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  they  didn't  know  every  thin'  down  in  Judee." 

Confession  is  good  for  the  soul,  and  I  candidly  con- 
fess that,  though  I  generally  go  about  with  my  weather- 
eye  open,  I  was  till  lately  unaware  of  this  eye-paint- 
ing business.  Had  I  ever  had  the  misfortune  to  have 
that  weather-eye  temporarily  closed  and,  consequently, 
in  mourning,  I  should  most  likely  have  known  all 
all  about  this  new  art  long  ago.  When  I  first  heard 
of  it,  through  the  medium  of  the  artist's  handbill,  I 
was  very  dubious  about  its  being  some  hoax  or  adver- 
tising dodge.  But,  seeing  is  believing;  and,  like  St. 
Thomas,  I  am  convinced.  I  have  always  regarded  the 
stories  of  painted  young  ladies,  false  busts,  and  news- 
papers as  a  recognized  article  of  ladies'  dress,  as  vile 
calumnies,  started  by  spinsters  who  have  kept  their  vir- 
tue on  hand  so  long  that  it  has  become  sour.  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  about  it  now.  Was  it  not  Mark 
Lemon  who  wrote  a  burlesque  in  Punch  entitled  "  A 

Book  in  a  Bustle  ?  " 

"  A.  P." 


THE     AMATEUR     PRISONER. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


THE   POOR  PRISONER. 

Some  time  aaro  I  received  an  intimation  from  the  then 
mana^ino;  editor '  of  the  Tribune  to  the  effect  that  he  cle- 
sired  to  see  me.  Repairing  thither,  I  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve my  senses  when  the  words,  "  A.  P.,  I  have  deter- 
mined to  send  you  to  prison,"  smote  like  a  knell  on  my 
ear. 

.  Little  Tommy,  the  office-boy,  could  have  knocked 
me  down  with  a  feather ;  the  more  stalwart  Johnny 
Weinheimer  could,  at  that  moment,  have  rendered  my 
children  fatherless  and  my  wife  a  widow  with  an  ease 
which  would  have  utterly  astonished  him.  "  With 
trembling  limbs,  hair  on  end,  and  glaring  eyeballs" 
(for  remainder  of  description,  see  any  of  the  weekly 
papers  of  last  Sunday),  I  was  about  to  burst  forth  in  a 
cataract  of  protests  and  demands  to  know  what  I  had 
done,  and  who  were  ray  accusers.  But  a  mens  conscia 
recti  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  the  eye  of  the  editor  ar- 
rested the  eloquent  flow  of  indignation  which  was  on 
the  very  tip  of  my  tongue.  After  laughing  heartily  at 
my  consternation,  the  editorial  chair  proceeded  to  un- 
fold the  meaning  of  its  announcement  as  follows : 

"  The  fact  is,  A.  P.,  I  have  reason  to  suspect  that 

1  The  present  editor. 


300  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

there  is  something  rotten  in  Mr.  Warden  Tracey's  state 
of  Denmark,  and  I  want  you  to  go  to  Ludlow-Street 
Jail  and  find  out  for  me  whether  such  be  really  the  case. 
I  think  arrangements  can  be  quietly  effected  which  will 
make  you  temporarily  an  inmate  of  the  prison.  Have 
you  any  objection  to  offer  to  the  proposal  V 

I  had  none.  On  the  contrary,  I  had  myself  pro- 
posed  to  Mr.  Whitelaw  Keid's  predecessor  in  office  that 
I  should  make  this  very  same  overture ;  but  the  pro- 
ject fell  through  at  the  moment  and  had  since  passed 
out  of  my  mind.  I  was,  therefore,  only  too  ready  to 
join  in  the  plot,  and  I  at  once  set  to  work  to  arrange 
the  details  of  its  execution — of  course,  with  the  aid 
and  abettance  of  the  Tribune. 

With  a  self-sacrificing  devotion  to  the  Tribune  some- 
what akin  to  that  which  led  Mr.  Samuel  Weller  to  vol- 
untarily incarcerate  himself  in  the  Fleet  Prison  in  order 
to  be  able  to  perform  his  usual  personal  service  to  Mr. 
Pickwick,  I  rushed  madly  into — an  indiscretion.  The 
friend  (the  Hon.  Isaac  H.  Bailey,  the  well-known  and 
eminent  New- York  merchant)  on  whom  I  perpetrated  it 
was  naturally  indignant  (or  rather  played  the  indignant, 
for  he  was  fully  aware  of  the  plan  of  operations),  and 
quickly  sought  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  to  right  himself 
and  punish  me — not  a  la  Mace  and  Coburn,  but  with  a 
little  gentle  correction  in  the  shape  of  a  prison-cell  and 
a  prison-diet. 

Could  that  accommodating  gentleman,  the  sheriff's 
officer,  have  only  known  that  I  was  as  much  in  search 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  301 

of  him  as  he  was  of  me,  he  might  have  saved  himself 
many  weary  hours  of  hanging  about  the  streets.  Un- 
fortunately, we  did  not  know  one  another.  I  had  per- 
ambulated Wall  Street  and  its  purlieus  in  the  day- 
time ;  lolled  about  the  entrance  of  Wallack's  Theatre 
and  Niblo's  Gardens  at  the  time  people  were  going  in 
and  coming  out ;  looked  in  at  Jim  Mace's,  the  Dot  and 
Go  one,  Boston  Props,  Jerry  Thomas's,  and  other  well- 
known  resorts ;  and  had  even  sauntered  with  nonchalant 
air  through  the  halls  and  bar-room  of  the  Fifth- A  venue 
Hotel.  But  I  could  not  come  across  him.  At  last, 
however,  he  ran  me  to  earth,  as  he  supposed  (I  had 
been  obliged  to  go  to  my  prosecutor's  office  and  ar- 
range with  him  that  he  should  bring  the  officer  to  a 
certain  spot  at  a  certain  hour — which  he  did)  ;  and  so 
tired  was  I  of  looking  for  him  that,  when  he  tapped  me 
on  the  shoulder,  I  could  almost  have  embraced  him  on 
the  spot,  all  perspiring  as  he  was.  He  inquired  affection- 
ately after  the  state  of  my  health,  and  then,  sure  of  his 
man,  he  handed  me  a  roll  of  official  papers,  one  of  which 
required  "  the  Sheriff  of  the  City  and  County  of  New 
York  forthwith  to  arrest  James  P.  Wilson"  (this  was 
the  name  I  had  assumed  for  the  occasion),  and  hold 
him  "  to  bail  in  the  sum  of  three  hundred  dollars."  ! 

1  COURT  OF  COMMON  PLEAS  FOR  THE  CITY  AND  COUNTY  OF   NEW  YORK. 


Isaac  H.  Bailey,  Plaintiff,    ) 

against  V  Order  of  Arrest. 

James  P.  Wilson,  Defendant.  \ 


To  the  Sheriff  of  the  City  and  County  of  New  York : 

It  appearing  to  me  by  affidavit  that  a  sufficient  cause  of  action  exists 
in  favor  of  the  above-named  plaintiff  against  the  above-named  defendant 


302  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

■  Assuming  an  air,  first  of  surprise,  and  then  of  great 
agitation,  I  seized  the  official  documents  and  affidavit, 
and,  hurrying  into  the  nearest  door- way,  read  them 
through  and  through  ;  while  a  judicious  trembling  of 
the  fingers,  just  enough  to  cause  the  papers  to  rustle,  a 
quiver  of  the  nostrils,  and  an  occasional  uneasy,  angry 
glance  (how  I  longed  to  wink  !)  at  my  cruel  creditor, 
entirely  threw  the  wary  officer  off  his  guard. 

"Poor  fellow  ! "  he  remarked,  sotto  voce;  "he  seems 
quite  taken  aback  and  upset !  Look  how  his  hand 
shakes  ! " 

So  I  took  in  the  officer  and  the  officer  took  in  me, 
as  poor  Tom  Hood  would  have  put  it. 

and  the  case  is  one  mentioned  in  section.  179  of  the  Code  of  Procedure,  and 
the  said  plaintiff  having  given  the  undertaking  required  by  law,  you  are 
required  forthwith  to  arrest  the  defendant  in  this  action,  and  hold  him 
to  bail  in  the  sum  of  Three  Hundred  Dollars,  and  to  return  this  order  to 
Diefendorf,  Be  am an  &  Marden,  Plaintiff's  Attorneys,  at  No.  17  Warren 
Street,  New-York  City,  on  the  19th  day  of  May,  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  seventy-one. 
Dated  May  12,  1871. 

J.  F.  DALY,  J.  C.  C.  P. 


COURT  OF  COMMON  PLEAS  FOR  THE  CITY  AND  COUNTY  OF   NEW  YORK. 


Isaac  H.  Bailey,  Plaintiff,    | 

against  V  Summons. — For  Relief.   {Com.  not  served.) 

James  P.  Wilson,  Defendant.  \ 

To  the  Defendant: 

You  are  hereby  Summoned  and  required  to  answer  the  complaint 
in  this  action,  which  will  be  filed  in  the  Office  of  the  Clerk  of  the  Court 
of  Common  Pleas  for  the  City  and  County  of  New  York,  at  the  County 
Court-House  in  said  city,  and  to  serve  a  copy  of  your  answer  to  the  said 
complaint  on  the  subscribers,  at  their  office,  No.  17  Warren  Street,  New 
York  City,  within  twenty  days  after  the  service  of  this  summons  on 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  303 

The  world  and  writers  of  romance  have  educated 
us  to  believe  that  sheriffs'  officers,  even  if  they  have 
souls  to  be  saved,  are  utterly  heartless.  Here  was  a 
notable  and  glorious  instance  to  the  contrary.  Why, 
this  warm-hearted  fellow,  after  depositing  me  safely  in 

you,  exclusive  of  the  day  of  such  service ;  and,  if  you  fail  to  answer  the 
said  complaint  within  the  time  aforesaid,  the  'plaintiff  in  this  action  will 
apply  to  the  Court  for  the  relief  demanded  in  the  complaint. 
Dated  New  York,  May  12,  1871. 

Diefendorf,  Beaman  &  Mardex,  Plaintiff's  Attorneys, 

17  Warren  Street,  New  York. 


COURT  OF  COMMON  PLEAS  FOR  THE  CITY  AND  COUNTY  OF    NEW  YORK. 


Isaac  H.  Bailey,  Plaintiff, 

against 
James  P.  Wilson,  Defendant. 


City  and  County  of  Xeic  York,  ss. 

Isaac  H.  Bailey,  of  said  city  and  county,  being  duly  sworn,  says  that 
he  is  the  above-named  plaintiff. 

Deponent  says  further,  that  on  the  10th  day  of  May,  1871,  he  requested 
James  P.  Wilson,  of  the  City  and  County  of  New  York,  the  above-named 
defendant,  to  deliver  the  sum  of  two  hundred  dollars  to  one  Frank  Smith, 
at  the  Fifth-Avenue  Hotel,  in  the  said  City  of  New  York;  that  deponent 
delivered  said  two  hundred  dollars  to  said  "Wilson,  and  that  said  Wilson 
received  said  two  hundred  dollars,  and  thereupon  undertook  to  deliver  the 
same  to  said  Frank  Smith  at  the  place  aforesaid,  or  to  return  the  same  to 
deponent  before  half-past  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  said  10th  day 
of  May,  1871. 

That  said  Wilson  did  not  deliver  said  two  hundred  dollars  to  said  Smith 
as  he  undertook  to  do,  nor  has  he  since  so  delivered  the  same,  nor  has  he 
returned  said  money  to  deponent. 

That  said  Wilson  has,  since  said  10th  day  of  May,  1871,  kept  himself 
concealed,  so  that  deponent  has  not  been  able  to  find  him. 

That  the  plaintiff  is  about  to  commence,  by  the  summons  hereto  an- 
nexed, an  action  in  this  Court  against  said  James  P.  Wilson  upon  the  cause 
of  action  above  stated. 

Sworn  to  before  me,  this  12th  day  of  May,  1871. 

ISAAC  II.  BAILEY. 

William  Parker,  Notary  Public,  New  York  County. 


304  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  clutches  of  the  law,  actually  took  the  trouble,  not- 
withstanding other  and  pressing  duties  demanded  his 
attention,  to  walk  some  distance  to  the  office  of  Mr. 
Bailey,  on  whose  complaint  I  had  been  arrested,  and 
earnestly  pleaded  for  my  release  from  prison,  at  least 
till  Monday,  that  I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
my  family,  with  a  view  to  settling  the  case.  But  my 
stern  creditor  declined  to  interfere  with  the  course  of 
the  law  (I  should  never  have  forgiven  him  if  he  had 
given  way),  and  the  officer's  well-intentioned  efforts 
were  unrewarded.  "  All  that  glisters  is  not  gold ; " 
nor  is  every  sheriff's  officer  a  brute.  It  seems  almost 
too  hard  to  work  deceitfully  on  the  feelings  of  such  a 
man,  but  when  I  think  of  the  "  poor  prisoner,"  in  whose 
good  cause  I  hoodwinked  him,  I  cannot  refrain  from  ap- 
plying to  the  act  the  encomium — splendide  mendax — 
which  Horace  passed  on  the  only  one  of  Priam's  daugh- 
ters who  did  not  kill  her  husband,  while  openly  avow- 
ing that  she  had  complied  with  her  father's  brutal  com- 
mands. 

After  I  had  finished  the  perusal  of  the  various  docu- 
ments which  the  officer  handed  to  me,  he  told  me  that 
I  must  go  with  him  to  the  sheriff's  office.  I  could 
scarcely  control  my  alacrity.  On  our  arrival  there,  the 
officials  inquired  if  I  could  procure  the  bail  named  in 
the  warrant.  I  replied  that  I  could  not  and  was  im- 
mediately turned  over  to  the  custody  of  another  officer, 
who  politely  requested  the  favor  of  my  company  as  far 
as  Ludlow-Street  Jail.    On  our  way,  he  was  profuse  and 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  305 

loud  in  liis  praises  of  "  little  Tracey,"  and  explained  to 
me  how  I  could  board  for  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  and 
be  "  as  comfortable  as  possible,"  or  for  thirty  dollars  a 
week,  and  "  live  like  a  fighting-cock."  I  promised  to 
ponder  over  his  information  and  was  in  the  act  of  thank- 
ing him,  when  he  suddenly  stopped  at  the  door  of  a 
large  building,  rang  the  bell,  and  said — 

"  Here  we  are." 

As  the  prison-door  opened  for  our  admission,  an  un- 
feeling little  gamin  (that  boy's  parents  ought  to  send 
him  to  a  reformatory)  jeeringly  called  out,  as  he  waved 
his  hand  : 

"  Good-by,  boss  ;  see  yer  again  some  time." 

The  next  moment  I  was  in  the  imposing  presence 
of  Mister  Warden  Tracey,  a  short,  thick-set,  muffin-faced, 
hard-looking  man,  whose  only  facial  adornments  are  a 
pair  of  coarse,  stubbly  whiskers.  He  didn't  look  like 
coming  up  to  the  mark  of  the  officer's  "  little  Tracey ; " 
and  he  didn't  come  up  to  it,  as  I  afterward  found  out. 
But,  Mr.  Tracey  has  family  ties.  Mr.  Tracey  is  conse- 
quently compelled  to  the  vulgar  pursuit  of  making 
money,  and  condescends  to  keep  a  prison  boarding-house, 
and — he  keeps  it.  Taking  my  cue  from  the  officer's 
information  about  the  boarding  arrangements,  I  osten- 
tatiously drew  a  roll  of  bills  from  my  pocket  and  asked 
him  if  there  were  any  thing  to  pay.  There  was  not ; 
but  the  action  characterized  me  as  a  more  than  probable 
boarder  and  led  to  a  polite  request  to  be  seated.  For 
over  an  hour  I  was  kept  waiting  in  that  chair  before 


306  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

tliey  allotted  me  a  cell ;  preserving  a  stolid  and  perse- 
vering silence,  and  utterly  refusing  to  make  any  "  board- 
ing "  overtures  to  Mr.  Tracey's  understrappers.  After 
eying  me  with  greedy  gaze  for  some  time,  Frank,  one 
'of  tlie  keepers,  apparently  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  was  "  no  go,"  and  lie  curtly  ordered  me  up  to  a  cell. 

With  a  view,  as  I  afterward  learned,  of  forcing  me 
to  come  down-stairs  to  board,  I  was  placed  in  a  cell  on 
the  highest  tier,  away  from  the  other  prisoners,  although 
there  were  several  unoccupied  cells  on  the  lower  tiers. 

On  entering  my  future  living  (?)  place,  I  found 
myself  in  a  bare,  whitewashed  apartment,  about  ten 
feet  by  seven,  with  a  blackened  stone-floor  and  a 
strongly-barred  opening,  which  should  have  been  a 
window,  about  six  feet  high  and  four  feet  wide,  facing 
the  iron  door,  which  was  grated  at  the  top.  Two  rick- 
ety iron  bedsteads  and  a  common  wooden  house-pail, 
"  for  the  purposes  of  nature  "  (!),  I  was  informed,  were 
the  only  articles  of  furniture  which  it  boasted.  Tbe 
bedding  consisted  of  an  old,  filthily-dirty  and  stained 
straw  pallet,  an  equally  unsavory  and  nasty  bolster  of 
chopped  straw  and  most  moderate  dimensions,  and  one 
ancient  army-blanket,  which  showered  a  cloud  of  dust 
like  a  door-mat  when  I  banged  it  against  the  wall. 
Into  this  luxurious  residence  I  was  ushered  by  one  Saw- 
yer, himself  a  prisoner,  who  acts  as  an  attendant  and 
does  odd  jobs  for  other  prisoners — when  they  pay  him 
well  for  it. 

Mr.  Sawyer  is  a  "  cullud  gen'lenian,"  who,  in  a  fit  of 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  307 

abstraction,  voted  two  or  three  times  at  the  last  election 
and  is  being  cared  for  at  the  city's  expense  in  conse- 
quence. He  is  a  very  ugly  and  very  dirty  specimen  of 
his  race,  robs  his  fellow-prisoners  mercilessly,  even  con- 
descending to  steal  an  old  beer-bottle,  a  candle-end,  or 
half  a  box  of  matches.  Tobacco  is  an  article  which  Mr. 
Sawyer  never  can  resist,  and  it  is  cruelly  wicked  to 
tempt  him  by  leaving  it  in  his  way.  He  has,  also,  or 
thinks  he  has,  a  fine  baritone  voice,  and  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  and  night  he  wakes  the  echoes  of  the  corridors 
with  some  sentimental  ditty,  and  is  rewarded  with  much 
such  applause  as  Mr.  Smangle  bestowed  on  the  Zephyr : 

"  Pay  away  at  it !  I'm  smothered  if  the  Opera-House 
isn't  your  proper  hemisphere.     Keep  it  up.     Hooray  !  " 

On  my  remarking  to  Mr.  Sawyer  that  the  bed  and 
bedding  were  fearful  to  behold,  he  replied  that  it  was 
u  very  comfortable ; "  that  he  had  slept  on  it  himself 
for  three  months  and  knew  it  was.  Mr.  Sawyer's  pre- 
vious occupation  of  that  bed  did  any  thing  but  reassure 
me,  and  doubtless  it  accounted  for  the  fearful  amount 
of  hard  work  which  my  finger-nails  had  to  do,  till  my 
exit  from  the  prison  and  a  Turkish-bath  relieved  them 
from  so  arduous  a  function. 

Left  to  myself,  I  stepped  out  on  to  the  narrow  cor- 
ridor and  looked  down.  I  was  immediately  seized  with 
a  giddy  fascination  to  throw  myself  off  the  dizzy  height, 
and,  fearful  of  sacrificing  my  own  life  and  the  interests 
of  the  Tribune,  I  at  once  reentered  my  cell.  After  a 
few  days,  however,  I  became  accustomed  to  my  lofty 


308  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

position,  and  now  feel  that  I  could  traverse  the  most 
fearful  scaffolding  with  the  ease  of  a  master  brick- 
layer. 

Mr.  Sawyer  soon  again  appeared,  this  time  attended 
by  the  two  other  prisoner  attendants,  Quirk  and  Fish 
(irreverently  called  "  Fishballs "),  bearing  basketfuls 
of  great  hunches  of  very  fair  bread  and  pails  of  a  most 
execrable  fluid,  compared  with  which  the  rinsings  of 
teacups  would  have  been  delicious.  They  had  the 
lying  hardihood  to  call  it  tea.  Heaven  save  them  ! 
With  a  jaunty  air  I  stepped  outside  to  receive  my  ra- 
tions and  was  sternly  ordered  back  by  Mr.  Sawyer, 
with  the  admonition — 

"  Prisoners  take  their  supper  in  their  cells." 

A  pint  tin  cup,  medievally  incrusted  to  an  extent 
which  would  have  graduated  it  into  the  rarest  collection 
of  Iric-a-brae  if  it  had  only  been  china,  was  handed  to 
me  by  Mr.  Quirk,  who  filled  it  with  his  boiling  so-called 
"  tea."  At  the  same  moment,  the  occupant  of  the  other 
bed  in  my  cell  put  in  his  appearance — a  working-man, 
who  could  speak  little  but  German  and  who,  much  to 
my  then  joy,  was  removed  by  "  Ed  "  (another  keeper), 
when  he  came  round  shortly  after  to  "  lock  up."  "  Ed  " 
graciously  informed  me  that  I  could  be  furnished  with 
much  more  comfortable  quarters  if  I  wished.  But  I  was 
proof  against  "  boarding,"  and  replied  that  I  would  think 
it  over. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  gloominess  of  my  situa- 
tion became  a  little  unpleasant.     No  book,  no  news- 


THE  POOR   PRISONER.  309 

paper,  no  light ;  a  good  supply  of  cigars,  but  no  match- 
es !  About  eight  o'clock  the  lovely  countenance  of  Mr. 
Sawyer  grinned  at  me  through  the  cell-door,  making 
me  start  as  though  I  had  seen  a  black  ghost.  He  in- 
quired if  I  wanted  a  light  and  generously  supplied  me 
with  a  common  kitchen  candle,  stuck  in  a  champagne- 
bottle,  for  fifteen  cents  and  a  box  of  common  matches 
for  five  cents.  Exercise  may  be  a  very  fine  thing,  but 
when  it  consists  of  stepping  backward  and  forward  in 
a  narrow  pathway  of  eight  or  nine  feet,  between  two 
stinking  beds,  it  is  apt  to  lose  its  charms.  The  contem- 
plation of  whitewash,  too,  becomes  a  little  monotonous 
after  a  while. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  the  horrors  of  the  situation 
increased.  Three  foreign  sailor  witnesses,  confined  in 
another  corridor,  commenced  a  wild  sort  of  chant  which 
called  up  all  sorts  of  spectres,  and,  when  they  had  fin- 
ished, the  other  prisoners  sang  chorus  after  chorus,  some 
of  them  evidently  having  good  voices  and  a  knowledge 
of  music.  The  favorite  airs,  however,  seemed  to  be, 
u  Don't  be  Angry  with  Me,  Darling,"  "  Moet  and  Chan- 
don,"  and  "  Put  Me  in  My  Little  Bed."  As  the  whisky 
went  down  (Mr.  Warden  Tracey's  whisky  would  certain- 
ly take  the  first  prize  in  Water  Street)  the  spirits  of 
the  prisoners,  went  up.  They  shouted  to  one  another, 
sang  indecent  songs,  and  yelled  like  maniacs.  It  was 
not  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  quiet 
reigned  in  that  tomb  of  the  living. 

But,  in  the  mean  time,  two  very  serious  matters  had 


310  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

begun  to  occupy  my  attention.  It  was  getting  colder 
every  five  minutes,  and,  as  I  paced  up  and  down,  the 
cutting  draught  between  the  opening  at  the  back  of  the 
cell  and  the  grated  door  went  playfully  through  me, 
instead  of  (as  every  well-disposed  breeze  would  have 
done)  taking  the  trouble  to  go  round.  I  had,  too,  to 
face  the  necessity  of  lying  down  in  my  revolting  rest- 
ing-place. Poor  Mark  Tapley  !  Had  he  but  lived  in 
this  our  day,  such  a  situation  would  have  fulfilled  his 
most  ardent  desires  ;  he  would  have  had  an  unsurpassa- 
ble opportunity  of  being  jolly  under  the  most  adverse 
circumstances.  But  the  cold  was  rapidly  becoming  un- 
bearable. I  was  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  and  had 
serious  thoughts  of  wrapping  myself  in  the  blanket, 
dirty  and  dusty  as  it  was,  and  continuing  my  prome- 
nade a  la  Choctaw  Indian.  To  add  to  the  discomforts 
of  the  situation,  the  prison  was  in  course  of  being 
painted  internally,  and  the  smell  from  the  bright-green 
paint  which  was  being  put  on  the  cell-doors,  the  iron 
staircases,  and  railings  of  the  corridors,  was  most  sick- 
ening. 

But  a  friend  was  at  hand  in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Quirk, 
who  is  also  in  trouble  for  forgetting  in  the  afternoon 
that  he  had  voted  in  the  morning  during  the  last  elec- 
tion. Quirk,  with  Irish  inconsistency  and  splendid  na- 
tive accent,  asked  me  if  it  was  me  that  was  not  in  bed, 
and  good-naturedly  offered  to  do  any  thing  for  me.  I 
inquired  if  he  could  procure  me  a  little  brandy  to  warm 
me.     He  could  get  nothing  but  whisky.     The  demo- 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  311 

niacal  yells  on  all  sides  made  me  hesitate  about  that, 
but  a  violent  shiver  quickly  produced  a  fifty-cent  stamp 
from  my  pocket,  which  resulted  in  Mr.  Tracey's  bar-room 
supplying  me  for  that  sum  with  about  an  ordinary  fif- 
teen cents'  worth  of  the  vilest  stuff  that  ever  went  down 
my  throat. 

The  morning  was  beginning  to  dawn,  I  was  ex- 
hausted with  walking  up  and  down,  and  was  at  last 
compelled  to  stretch  myself  on  my  prisoner's  bed.  To 
do  this,  I  had  to  put  my  feet  through  the  bars  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  as  that  libel  on  a  sleeping-place  and  I 
did  not  fit  as  to  length.  Good  heavens  !  Fresh  sources 
of  woe  ;  and  swarming,  too  !  In  a  few  minutes  I  was 
being  eaten  up  alive  by  the  hungry  vermin,  who  had 
had  nothing  more  juicy  than  Mr.  Sawyer  to  feed  upon 
for  three  months,  or,  perhaps,  had  drawn  their  first 
breath  and  had  passed  their  infancy  and  youth  in  the 
incrustations  on  that  gentleman's  sable  skin.  And 
now,  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  their  growth,  I  was 
their  victim.  How  I  wished  that  they  had  consumed 
Sawyer  and  died  of  over-eating  ! 

In  despair  I  once  more  started  on  my  walk  up  and 
down  and  continued  it  till  the  keeper  unlocked  my  cell- 
door  at  eight  o'clock,  and  told  me  to  my  joy  I  could  go 
down  to  the  "  tap  "  and  wash. 

No  basins,  no  towels,  no  soap ;  only  a  tap  over  a 
sink  ! 

For  ten  cents  I  borrowed,  positively  for  ten  minutes 
only,  a  dirty,  half-wet  towel  and  a  piece  of  soap  ;   a 


312  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

comb  and  brush,  which  were  offered  for  five  cents  ex- 
tra, I  politely  declined  with  thanks. 

Returning  to  rny  cell,  I  found  my  breakfast  waiting 
for  me — the  regulation  hunch  of  bread  and  a  pint  of 
muddy  coffee.     At  the  same  time  I  received  the  order : 

"  Empty  the  slops  and  clean  out  your  cell." 

My  remonstrance  that  I  had  no  broom  only  ex- 
tracted from  my  sulky  jailer  the  rejoinder  : 

"  Well,  you've  got  to  do  it." 

Another  prisoner,  for  a  weekly  consideration  of  one 
dollar,  made  an  arrangement  with  me  to  perform  these 
menial  services,  received  a  week's  wages  in  advance, 
and  never  came  near  me  again.  I  might  have  suspected 
the  cheapness  of  the  bargain.  Quirk,  the  prison  at- 
tendant, who  was  really  a  good-natured,  willing  fellow, 
then  undertook  the  office  on  the  strict  condition  that 
he  was  not  to  be  paid  till  the  end  of  the  week.  By 
another  agreement,  he  brought  in  a  pail  of  cold  water, 
soap,  and  towel,  every  morning,  when  the  cells  were 
unlocked.  He,  however,  did  not  sweep  out  the  cell ; 
and  it  was  not  swept  out  all  the  time  I  occupied  it.  I 
suppose  he  forgot  it,  for,  in  my  numerous  other  trans- 
actions with  him,  I  found  him  scrupulously  honest. 
Eough  and  ready  as  he  was,  his  whole  manner  be- 
trayed his  sympathy  with  me,  and,  though  I  was  only 
an  amateur  prisoner,  his  sympathy  was  very  welcome. 

"  Mid  all  the  changing  scenes  of  life,"  none  has  so 
little  variety  as  the  interior  of  a  prison.  There  are 
no  kaleidoscopic  effects,  no  excitements,  save,  perhaps, 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  313 

when  some  old  prisoner  gets  his  discharge,  stands  his 
bottle  of  wine,  and  says  a  hearty  good-by,  or  when 
some  new  face  appears.  The  same  actors  appear  day 
after  day  in  the  same  roles,  in  the  same  dresses,  and  in 
the  same  attitudes.  Some  few  keep  up  their  former 
glories  and  raise  the  envy  of  their  fellows  by  varnished 
boots,  a  blue  frock-coat,  "  a  flower  in  the  button-hole, 
quite  the  gentleman ; "  but  the  majority  are  torn, 
pieced,  and  patched.  Captain  Costigan,  or  his  proto- 
types (I  hope  the  captain's  ghost  won't  demand  the 
"  satisfaction  of  a  gintleman  !  "),  hang  around  the  bil- 
liard-table, play  for  money  on  trust,  lose  bets  on  trust, 
and  get  drunk  on  trust ;  paying  off  their  scores  the  first 
time  a  friend  is  rash  enough  to  visit  them  and  lend 
them  a  five-dollar  bill.  The  brow  of  every  one  is 
plainly  inscribed  with  the  word  jail ;  the  lofty  roof 
echoes  the  word  jail ;  the  rays  of  the  streaming  sun- 
light scintillate  till  they  assume  shape  and  form,  and, 
like  the  mysterious  writing  on  the  wall  at  Belshazzar's 
feast,  the  ominous  word  jail  appears  in  letters  of  fire ; 
the  very  atmosphere  tastes  and  smells  of  jail.  The 
ennui  is  terrible.  The  music  of  a  stray  barrel-organ, 
though  it  be  "  Shoo  Fly,"  has  a  charm ;  a  German 
brass  band  is  a  perfect  Godsend ;  even  the  occasional 
clanging  of  a  fire-bell  is  a  relief  to  the  monotony ;  the 
advent  of  the  newsboy  with  his  penny  sheet  is  the 
event  of  the  afternoon.  Even  the  great  American  re- 
source for  a  passe-temps  —  whittling  —  is  denied  ;  for, 

though  the  food  is  wretched  and  the  beds  filthy,  the 
21 


314  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

halls  and  corridors  are  kept  scrupulously  clean.  Notices 
posted  about  inform  the  prisoners  that  any  infraction 
of  this  rule  of  cleanliness  will  confine  them  to  their  cells 
for  all  the  twenty- four  hours  instead  of  the  regulation 
seventeen.  In  the  "  boarders'  "  corridor  these  notices 
commence,  "  Gentlemen  ;  "  the  "  poor  prisoners  "  are 
addressed  as  "  Persons." 

Reversing  the  general  order  of  things,  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  place  all  live  down-stairs.  Their  cells  are 
in  a  broad,  airy  corridor  leading  from  the  billiard-room, 
and  shut  off  at  night  from  the  rest  of  the  prison  by  a 
heavy  iron  gate.  They  are  very  simply  but  decently 
furnished  and  the  beds  have  sheets  and  pillow-cases. 
Each  of  their  occupants  is  a  private  boarder  of  Mr. 
Warden  Traeey's,  paying  him  fifteen  dollars  a  week ; 
though,  if  they  choose  to  pay  thirty  dollars  a  week, 
they  can  have  a  nicely-furnished  sitting-room,  lighted 
with  gas,  in  the  private  part  of  the  prison.  It  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  Mr.  Tracey  draws  fifty  cents  a  day 
for  the  feeding  of  every  prisoner,  boarder  or  no  boarder, 
and  the  cost  of  lodging  free,  from  the  pockets  of  the 
tax-payers. 

It  is  most  amusing  to  witness  the  obsequious  man- 
ner of  Mr.  Sawyer  the  moment  he  puts  his  foot  within 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  aristocracy.  Every  one  is 
"  Sir."  He  steps  aside  to  let  them  pass,  and  otherwise 
shows  his  high  regard  for  Mr.  Tracey's  boarders.  In 
one  of  these  cells  a  dashing,  good-looking,  smartly- 
dressed  young  man  has  been  confined  for  over  a  year. 


TIIE  POOR  PRISONER.  315 

He  lords  it  with  regal  sway  over  the  whole  prison,  and 
is  said  to  have  great  influence  with  the  warden.  The 
secret  of  this  is  that  he  has,  apparently,  unlimited  com- 
mand of  money.  His  wife  comes  down  and  spends  the 
day  with  him,  other  friends  and .  relatives  drop  in  to 
chat  away  an  hour  or  two,  and  on  Sunday  he  holds  a 
perfect  levee,  notwithstanding  that  the  printed  rules  of 
the  prison  forbid  the  admission  of  visitors  on  Sunday. 
All  sorts  of  delicacies  find  their  way  into  this  same 
gentleman's  cell,  such  as  pineapples,  strawberries  and 
cream,  lobster-salad,  etc.  He  is  also  allowed  to  leave 
the  prison  when  he  desires,  though  he  has  to  take  his 
walks  abroad  in  the  company  of  an  officer  of  the  pris- 
on and  pay  five  dollars  an  hour  for  the  privilege. 

Mr.  Tracey  also  grants  another  and  inestimable 
privilege  to  his  private  boarders.  They  are  not  locked 
into  their  cells  till  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 
and  have  the  run  of  the  private  offices  of  the  prison, 
and  can  go  to  the  bar-room  without  previously  asking 
the  permission  of  the  keeper.  Any  "poor  prisoner'' 
going  into  the  private  offices,  even  to  see  Mr.  Tracey 
himself,  or  into  the  bar-room  without  permission,  in 
curs  the  penalty  of  being  locked  up  in  his  cell  all  day 
It  may  be  perfectly  legitimate  for  the  warden  to  pro 
vide  a  plain  table-dliote  dinner,  breakfast,  and  supper, 
for  those  who  are  willing  to  pay  fifteen  or  thirty  dol 
lars  a  week,  but  money  should  not  be  allowed  to 
purchase  any  relaxation  of  the  hours  of  incarceration 
which  the  law  ordains. 


316  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

•  There  is  another  most  improper  custom  in  connec- 
tion with  Mr.  Tracey's  boarding-house.  Every  prisoner 
who  becomes  a  boarder  has  to  spend  twenty  dollars  in 
champagne  and  cigars  by  way  of  "  paying  his  footing." 
Of  course,  it  is  a  mere  custom,  and  cannot  be  enforced ; 
but  any  new  boarder  refusing  to  comply  with  it  is  con- 
sidered a  sneak,  and  treated  accordingly.  In  fact,  he 
would,  perhaps,  be  less  miserable  if  he  remained  a 
"  poor  prisoner."  This  admission  fee,  however,  carries 
with  it  a  membership  of  the  club  of  the  Hotel  de  Lud- 
low ;  a  sort  of  "  free  and  easy,"  established  for  the 
quicker  consumption  of  Mr.  Tracey's  wine  and  cigars, 
card-playing,  and  any  amusement  that  may  suggest  it- 
self. Mock-trials  are  the  stock  pieces  of  this  talented 
company.  One  of  the  number  is  arraigned  before  a 
jury  of  his  peers  on  some  imaginary  charge ;  one  takes 
the  part  of  the  plaintiff,  others  enact  the  role  of  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  and  defense,  and  "  little  Tracey " 
generally  presides  as  judge  over  this  solemn  tribunal ! 
As  a  general  thing  the  trials  are  of  a  low  and,  too  of- 
ten, disgusting  type  ;  and  they  are  sometimes  made  the 
opportunity  of  an  impudent  robbery.  One  instance 
will  suffice.  A  young  German,  who  had  joined  the 
club  in  the  afternoon,  was  placed  on  trial  one  evening 
on  the  charge  of  seduction.  The  plaintiff,  a  fair-faced, 
boyish-looking  prisoner,  was  dressed  from  Mrs.  Tracey's 
wardrobe  ;  a  pillow  having  been  so  arranged  under  the 
crinoline  as  to  give  the  impression  that  this  pseudo- 
female  was  on  the%  eve  of  becoming  a  mother.     Of  the 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  317 

proceedings  which  followed,  it  is  unnecessary  to  say 
any  thing.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  prisoner  was 
found  guilty  of  the  offense,  and  was  condemned  by  the 
judge — Mr.  Tracey,  Warden  of  the  Prison — to  pay  a 
tine  of  twenty  dollars. 

He  paid  it !  But  not  till  after  much  bullying. 
The  money  was  spent  in  champagne  and  cigars,  which 
were  retailed  at  a  hundred  per  cent,  advance  on  the 
cost  price. 

But  even  the  boarders  sometimes  get  tired  of  this 
sort  of  thing  and  of  the  expensiveness  of  living  "  down- 
stairs." Two  young  men,  who  are  held  by  Colonel 
"Whitely  on  a  charge  of  "  washing  n  revenue-stamps  to  a 
large  amount,  boarded  down-stairs  when  they  first  went 
to  the  prison,  as  they  were  well  supplied  with  cash ;  but 
they  found  that  they  could  keep  themselves  better  for 
half  the  sum  per  week  which  Mr.  Tracy  charged  them, 
and  they  joined  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  up-stairs. 
They  have  furnished  their  cell  very  tastefully;  rose- 
colored  curtains  of  simple  material,  book-shelves,  nice 
bedding,  a  miniature  sideboard,  washing  conveniences, 
chairs,  and  a  small  cooking-stove.  They  smuggle  in  eata- 
bles from  outside,  and,  but  for  the  irksomeness  of  being 
locked  up  for  so  many  hours,  they  live  in  tolerable 
comfort.  They  seem  thoroughly  prepared  for  a  long 
stay  in  the  jail ;  it  is  fortunate  for  them,  therefore,  that 
they  have  plenty  of  money,  for  they  seem  to  have  been 
luxuriously  brought  up. 

So  much  for  the  aristocratic  prisoners — those  who 


318  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

have  pocket-money  !     But,  how  about  the  unfortunates 
who  have  none  ?     How  do  they  fare  \ 

At  twelve  o'clock  every  day,  Sawyer,  Quirk,  and 
"Fishballs"  (the  last  is  locked  up  for  playing  tricks 
with  Uncle  Sam's  currency),  appear  with  their  ponder- 
ous baskets  and  serve  out  the  prisoners'  dinners.  Din- 
ners do  I  call  them  ?  Rather  say  experiments  on  how 
not  to  dine.  Such  a  meal !  The  hungriest  stomach, 
unless  habituated  to  the  very  roughest  fare,  would  re- 
volt from  it.  The  whole  time  during  which  I  remained 
in  prison,  I  did  not  once  essay  to  touch  it,  and  one  day, 
when  a  reporter  from  the  Tribune  office  came  to  my 
cell,  as  he  did  every  day,  to  learn  how  I  was  getting 
along,  he  was  so  horrified  on  examining  my  dinner, 
that  he  packed  it  up  in  a  sheet  of  newspaper  and  car- 
ried it  off  with  him  for  the  inspection  of  the  Tribune 
editors.  The  prison  dinner  generally  consists  of  three 
or  four  lumps  of  scraggy,  shreddy,  sinewy,  half-cold 
beef,  without  gravy,  which  would  do  duty  excellently 
for  horse-flesh,  two  little  potatoes  with  the  skins  on 
and  no  larger  than  hens'-eggs,  and  a  slice  of  bread,  all 
jumbled  higgledy-piggledy  into  a  dirty,  brown,  greasy 
tin  dish.  As  no  knives  and  forks  are  provided,  the 
peeling  of  the  potatoes  is  a  work  of  art  almost  impos- 
sible to  perform ;  nor,  I  should  think,  does  the  primeval 
fashion  of  eating  one's  meat  from  one's  fingers  at  all  add 
to  its  relish.  No  water  is  provided  at  the  meal,  but 
those  who  are  thirsty  have  to  go  and  drink  at  the  tap, 
where  the  morning's  ablutions  are  gone  through,  and 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  319 

then  one  has  to  try  to  digest  this  unsavory  mass — that 
is,  if  you  can  eat  it — in  the  gloomy  silence  of  one's  own 
cell,  or  in  the  noisy,  bad-tobacco-smelling  billiard-room. 

One  afternoon,  while  sitting  in  the  billiard-room, 
watching  two  men  play  for  a  dollar,  which  neither  of 
them  could  pay,  a  little  incident  occurred  which  set 
my  heart  beating  nineteen  to  the  dozen.  On  the  same 
bench  with  me  sat  two  or  three  fellow-prisoners,  and 
others  were  lounging  around.  It  happened  that,  when 
I  made  preparations  for  going  to  Ludlow  Street,  I 
picked  out  an  old  coat  and  waistcoat  that  I  had  not 
worn  for  nearly  two  years.  Fumbling  lazily  in  the 
pocket,  I  discovered  a  piece  of  folded  paper  which  I 
carelessly  displayed  and  found  to  be  an  old  counterfeit 
fifty-dollar  bill  which  had  come  into  my  possession 
about  two  years  ago,  when  occupied  in  getting  up  a 
series  of  articles  on  the  subject  of  counterfeiters.  There 
are  many  of  this  fraternity  confined  in  the  prison.  How 
could  I  tell  that  those  on  either  side  of  me  were  not 
members  of  it  ?  Hastily  putting  it  back  in  my  pocket, 
I  walked  as  deliberately  as  I  could  to  my  cell,  struck  a 
match,  and  the  bill  was  soon  in  ashes.  Had  the  keep- 
ers got  wind  of  it,  I  might  have  whistled  away  the 
hours  of  life  in  Ludlow  Street  till  Doomsday. 

But,  returning  to  the  billiard-room,  I  noticed  a  stran 
ger  in  conversation  with  one  of  the  prisoners.  Presum 
ing  that  they  were  friends,  I  took  little  heed  of  him 
and  was  considerably  astonished  when  he  afterward  ad 
dressed  me  and  inquired  when  my  trial  was  coming  on 


320  THE  AMATEUR    VAGABOND. 

I  asked  hirn  who  lie  was.  He  replied  that  he  was  a  re- 
porter for  the  New  York and  other  papers.  I  in- 
formed hini  that  I  had  no  desire  to  tell  him  any  thing, 
and  hurried  once  more  to  my  cell  to  avoid  the  possible 
chance  of  recognition.  I  heard  afterward  that  he  had 
paid  me  the  compliment  to  mistake  me  for  Dutch 
George,  the  so-called  King  of  the  Counterfeiters,  who, 
by-the-way,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  "Warden  Tracey  will 
not  allow  to  board  down-stairs.  His  other  boarders 
would  not  like  it !  It  is  just  possible  that  Mr.  Tracey 
is  a  little  doubtful  of  the  character  of  the  bills  with 
which  Mr.  George  might  desire  to  liquidate  his  indebt- 
edness for  board.  The  other  counterfeiting  prisoners, 
however,  deny  indignantly  the  claim  of  Mr.  George  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  profession  and  assert  that  some  of 
them  are  much  more  clever  at  it  than  he  is. 

Among  the  prisoners  are  some  of  those  unfortu- 
nates— detained  witnesses.  On  a  tier,  near  my  cell, 
three  sailors  are  confined  who  are  witnesses  against  the 
steward  of  the  ship  Helen  and  Ophelia,  who  shot  one 
of  his  fellow-seamen  dead  last  August  in  the  harbor  of 
Montevideo.  He  was  brought  home  in  irons,  and,  after 
a  preliminary  examination,  let  out  on  bail ;  the  three 
witnesses  being  sent  to  Ludlow  Street !  There  they 
have  remained  since  last  October.  In  the  mean  time 
the  murderer  has  been  on  a  voyage,  earned  his  money, 
had  a  run  ashore  and  enjoyed  himself,  and  is  now  on 
his  second  voyage,  earning  more  money,  while  the  in- 
nocent men  are  locked  up  as  criminals  and  fed  on  prison 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  321 

fare.  They  say  no  trial  can  take  place  till  October,  and 
that  possibly,  it  may  then  be  again  pnt  off.  One  of 
these  men  is  very  intelligent  and  handy.  He  carves 
ships  with  rnde  knives  and  has  decorated  his  cell  with 
innumerable  artistic  devices  cut  in  paper.  Another 
prisoner,  also  a  seaman,  is  detained  as  a  witness  against 
a  man  who  passed  a  counterfeit  ten-dollar  bill  on  him. 
He  is  an  Englishman,  and  very  anxious  to  return  to  his 
own  country.  Another  is  held,  to  compel  him  to  pay 
alimony  to  his  wife.  He  has  no  funds  and  cannot  earn 
enough  to  pay  it.  One  case  seems  very  sad.  A  poor 
fellow,  who  had  formerly  been  in  partnership  with  a 
brother,  started  in  business  for  himself.  He  was  doing 
very  well,  when  his  brother  made  a  bad  failure.  This 
affected  his  own  credit.  He  con  Id  get  no  goods  on  time 
with  which  to  carry  on  his  business,  and  was  eventually 
compelled  to  assign  all  his  effects  for  the  benefit  of  his 
creditors.  He  was  thrown  into  Ludlow-Street  Jail 
eighteen  months  ago,  but  soon  succeeded  in  getting  out 
on  bail  and  for  some  time  held  a  situation  in  a  dry- 
goods  store  in  the  city,  which  enabled  him  to  maintain 
his  family.  But  the  creditors  have  been  unable  to  ob- 
tain any  division  of  the  funds  in  hand  from  the  assignee, 
and,  to  revenge  themselves,  have  persuaded  the  poor 
fellow's  bail  to  put  him  back  again  in  Ludlow-Street 
Jail. 

"  They  can't  draw  blood  from  a  stone,"  he  said  to 
me  one  day;  "I  gave  them  up  every  thing  I  had;  and 
now  my  wife  and  children  must  starve  and  I  be  im- 


322  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

prisoned  because  of  the  dilatoriness  or  dishonesty  of 
the  assignee." 

An  unhappy  little  Jew,  too,  is  there  for  a  second 
time.  He  went  out  under  the  Fourteen  Days'  Act, 
having  not  a  cent  in  the  world.  His  creditor  found  out 
that,  by  some  accident,  the  lawyer  had  obtained  his 
release  through  the  wrong  court  and,  from  sheer  malice, 
he  had  him  once  more  arrested  and  imprisoned.  The 
poor  fellow  has  to  go  through  the  mill  again  and  take 
his  discharge  in  the  right  court.  Another  victim  of 
the  law  is  persecuted  by  a  dishonest  partner,  and, 
though  the  son  of  a  wealthy  man,  is  disowned  by  his 
family  in  consequence  of  a  mesalliance.  Finding  his 
partner  was  dishonest,  he  endeavored  to  protect  his  own 
interests  and  quickly  found  himself  in  Ludlow  Street. 
Unfortunately,  his  father-in-law  wanted  his  daughter 
divorced  from  him,  and  a  conspiracy  was  soon  entered 
into  with  the  partner  to  procure  it.  They  kept  him  a 
prisoner  for  over  six  months,  till  they  at  last  succeeded 
in  persuading  him  to  assist  them  in  fabricating  evidence 
sufficient  to  obtain  the  divorce,  promising  to  have  him 
released  if  he  did  so.  The  divorce  was  granted  on  his 
evidence,  and,  a  few  days  afterward,  he  was  again  ar- 
rested and  has  remained  in  prison  ever  since.  These 
stories,  of  course,  are  one-sided  as  regards  their  telling, 
but,  if  they  are  true,  they  show  to  what  purposes  a  pub- 
lic jail  may  be  put.  One  of  the  most  heart-rending 
sights  is  to  see  the  wives  and  children  of  these  unhappy 
prisoners  toiling,  heart-broken,  up  the  winding  iron  stair- 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  323 

case,  to  the  cells,  to  visit  theni,  to  bring  their  clean 
clothes,  or,  when  possible,  some  little  thing  to  eat, 
and  in  order  to  bring  which  they  have  very  likely 
starved. 

And  such  is  the  majesty  of  the  law,  when  brought 
home  to  the  wife  and  family  of  the  poor  debtor  ! 

Of  all  the  days  in  the  week,  Sunday  appears  the 
longest  and  most  monotonous  in  prison-life.  There  is 
no  click  of  the  billiard-balls,  no  friendly  soldier  grinds 
his  organ  outside,  there  are  no  afternoon  papers.  A 
young  clergyman  performs  the  Episcopal  service  in  the 
billiard-room  (an  odd  venue!)  and  before  his  arrival 
the  prisoners  amuse  themselves  with  building  the  bibles 
and  hymn-books  in  piles  and  betting  cents  as  to  which 
can  raise  the  highest.  The  bar-room  is  kept  pretty 
busy ;  for,  oh,  tell  it  not  in  Gath,  Mr.  Tracey's  bar  ac- 
tually dispenses  liquor  on  Sundays.  But,  perhaps,  Mr. 
Tracey  considers  himself  above  the  law  in  this  matter. 
Visitors  are  not  allowed  in  the  prison  on  Sunday,  un- 
less they  come  to  see  Mr.  Tracey's  boarders.  Conse- 
quently the  day  is  a  very  long  one,  and  the  prison  is 
generally  quiet  at  night  two  or  three  hours  earlier  than 
usual. 

So  great  is  the  impecuniosity  of  some  of  the  prison- 
ers and  so  imperative  is  the  necessity  of  doing  some- 
thing to  kill  time  on  Sunday  that,  much  to  my  amuse- 
ment, two  men,  who  were  companions,  started  on  a 
cruise  through  the  corridors,  the  one  to  borrow  a  pipe, 
the  other  to  beg  a  "  smoke  of  tobacco."    Returning  with 


324  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

their  prizes,  they  retired  to  a  quiet  corner,  where  they 
enjoyed  alternately  "  a  whiff  and  a  spit,"  as  they  called 
it,  till  their  magazine  of  luxury  was  exhausted. 

I  soon  found  that  my  steady  refusal  to  board  down- 
stairs was  a  bar  to  the  good- will  and  civility  of  the  au- 
thorities.   I  was  refused  permission  to  go  into  the  office 
to  write  a  letter  to  my  friends,  and  was  roughly  told  to 
write  in  my  cell  if  I  wanted  to  write,  although  it  was 
well  known  I  had  neither  pens,  ink,  nor  paper.  However 
for  ten  cents,  I  bought  a  sheet  of  paper,  an  envelope 
and  a  city  postage-stamp,  of  a  fellow-prisoner,  and  I  sue 
ceeded  in  getting  it  posted.     When  the   Tribune  re 
porter  called  upon  me  I  had  great  difficulty  in  persuad 
ing  the  jailer  to  allow  him  to  accompany  me  to  my  cell 
I  was  asked,  u  Is  he  your  lawyer  ?  "  and  other  questions 
and  only  secured  a  sulky  acquiescence  in  my  request 
when  I  assured  my  persecutor  that  the  gentleman  had 
come  with  the  sole  object  of  getting  me  released.     And 
yet  the  friends  of  the  poorest  prisoners  (no  chance  of 
their  being  boarders)  were  ordinarily  allowed  to  walk 
straight  up-stairs  without  let  or  hinderance  !    I  found, 
too,  that  when  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  bar-room  to  get 
a  cigar  or  stand  a  drink,  the  keeper  always  had  to  go 
away  at  the  moment.     These,  however,  were  but  petty 
persecutions. 

In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  I  found  out  the  real 
horrors  of  prison-life.  An  insufficiency  of  food,  the 
sickening  smell  of  the  paint,  and  the  drinking  of  so 
much  wretched  slops,  brought  on  a  violent  attack  of 


THE  POOR  PRISONER.  325 

diarrhoea  one  day,  soon  after  I  had  been  looked  up  for 
the  night.  My  situation  was  unbearable.  For  five-and- 
thirty  minutes  I  suffered  in  silence,  and  then  shouted 
for  Mr.  Sawyer,  the  attendant  of  my  tier.  After  calling 
repeatedly,  that  gentleman  made  his  appearance  and 
testily  inquired  what  I  wanted.  I  told  him  of  my  ail- 
ments and  requested  to  be  allowed  to  leave  my  cell 
temporarily.  He  coolly  asked  me  if  I  had  no  bucket 
and  told  me  that  I  could  not  leave  the  cell  under  any 
pretense  whatever.  For  two  days  and  two  nights,  I 
was  ill ;  so  much  so  that,  when  the  Tribune  reporter 
called  to  see  me  on  the  second  day,  he  was  quite  uneasy 
as  to  my  condition.  The  agony  of  those  two  nights 
was  indescribable.  My  sickness,  the  cold,  cutting 
draught,  a  bed  I  hardly  dare  lie  upon — for,  in  spite  of 
my  complaints  to  the  keepers,  it  had  not  been  changed — 
the  horrible  smell  of  the  paint,  a  miniature  open  cess- 
pool at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and,  above  all,  a  hungry, 
empty,  sickened  sensation,  which  weakened  me  fearfully, 
made  existence  at  that  time,  and  in  such  a  place,  a  per- 
fect agony.  How  I  got  along  till  morning  I  hardly 
know.  Poor  Quirk  found  me,  when  he  came  with  my 
Mater,  soap,  and  towel,  in  a  miserable  state  and  would 
have  done  any  thing  for  me.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  before  I  could  crawl  down-stairs,  and  if  ever 
I  blessed  the  sight  of  man  in  my  life,  it  was  when  the 
Tribune  reporter  called  me  down  to  the  office  and  in- 
formed me  that  the  papers  for  the  release  of  the  "  Poor 
Prisoner"  were  then  in   the  hands  of  the  jailer.      I 


326  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

had  sent  word  to  the  editor  that  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer. 

Such  is  a  brief  sketch  of  life  in  Ludlow-Street  Jail. 
Some  unhappy  prisoner  of  six  months'  standing  might 
write  a  thick  octavo  volume  about  it. 

I  recollect,  a  few  years  ago,  watching  the  horrible 
process  of  paralyzing  a  dog  with  the  gases  which  exhale 
from  the  ground  in  the  Grotto  del  Cane,  at  Pozzuoli, 
on  the  shore  of  the  bay  of  Naples.  A  young  French 
lady  of  the  party  remarked  to  the  custodian  : 

"  The  poor  dog's  existence  must  be  a  misery  to  it." 

"  Possihlement  !  "  replied  the  man;  "  metis  on  ne 
vit  pas  longtemps." 

The  half-ironical,  half-philosophical  reply  of  this 
trader  in  canine  suffering  applies  well  to  Ludlow-Street 
Jail.  A  strong,  able-bodied  man  of  the  lower  classes 
might  survive  a  long  term  of  imprisonment  in  it,  but  a 
man  of  refined  nature  and  sensitive  mind  and  unaccus- 
tomed to  hardships,  though  he  might  exist  there  for  a 
while,  would  certainly  not  live  long.  The  probable 
fate  of  such  a  man  was  pictured  to  the  life  by  the  philo- 
sophical and  voluble  Mr.  Jingle  :  "  Lie  in  bed — starve — 
die — inquest — little  bone-house — poor  prisoner — com- 
mon necessaries — hush  it  up — gentlemen  of  the  jury — 
warden's  tradesmen — keep  it  snug — natural  death — 
coroner's  order — workhouse  funeral — serve  him  right 
— all  over — drop  the  curtain." 

"A.  P." 


THE     AMATEUR    TRAMP. 
(Portrait  of  character,  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


THE  LIFE   OF  A  TRAMP. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  a  strangely-mixed  bank 
of  fiery-red  and  slate-colored  clouds  and  left  "  the  world 
to  darkness  and  to  me  " — and  to  my  secret  devices.  As 
the  darkness  rapidly  increased,  my  secret  devices  were 
being  artistically  developed  in  the  basement  office  of  an 
accommodating  journalistic  friend  in  Jersey  City.  He 
was  absent  at  the  moment,  but  had  left  word  with  his 
clerk  that  he  expected  me.  That  young  gentleman,  there- 
fore, manifested  no  surprise  when  I  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, valise  in  hand.  But,  when  I  displayed  the  con- 
tents of  that  valise  on  a  chair  and  had  doffed  my  cloth- 
ing, he  looked  up  every  minute  from  the  manifold  copy 
before  him  and,  ignorant  of  my  intentions,  regarded  me 
with  an  air  of  perplexity  which  was  extremely  amusing. 
And  no  wonder  !  Having  stripped  myself  to  the  waist, 
instead  of  washing  myself,  as  he  apparently  and  very 
naturally  expected,  I  proceeded  to  sprinkle  my  five- 
days'  unshaven  face  with  water  and  then  to  rub  in 
some  of  the  dust  which,  conveniently  for  my  use,  had 
been  allowed  to  collect  on  the  window-sill ;  then  to 
stick  several  strips  of  dirty  diachylon-plaister  over  my 


328  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

left  temple  and  eyebrow,  though  there  was  not  so  nmch 
as  a  pin-scratch  to  protect  against  the  weather ;  then  to 
array  myself  in  a  scarlet,  poppy-colored  flannel  shirt, 
with  a  blue-and-yellow  spotted  pocket-handkerchief  by 
way  of  neck-tie  ;  then  to  don  an  old  pair  of  trousers 
which  had  been  artistically  rent  and  mud-stained  and 
patched  on  the  seat  and  each  knee,  and  to  roll  the  bot- 
toms of  them  up  two  folds ;  and,  finally,  to  throw  an 
old  faded  pea-jacket  over  my  shoulder  and  to  crown 
myself  with  a  worn,  sun-burned  straw  hat,  the  brim  of 
which  was  sorely  dilapidated  and  the  band  decorated 
with  a  blackened  short  clay-pipe. 

"  How'll  that  do  ?  "  I  asked,  turning  to  the  dum- 
founded  clerk,  who  was  staring  at  me  with  profound 
amazement. 

"  Well,  sir,  since  you  ask  me,"  he  replied,  with  a 
broad  grin  on  his  face  as  he  inspected  me  from  top  to 
toe,  "  I  think  you  look  about  as  big  a  blackguard  as  I 
should  care  to  meet  alone  on  a  dark  night.  But,"  he 
added,  "  what  in  thunder  does  it  all  mean,  sir ;  why  do 
you  assume  this  extraordinary  disguise  ?  " 

He  seemed  still  more  astounded  when  I  told  him 
that  it  was  my  intention  to  walk  to  Philadelphia  as  a 
tramp  ;  to  mix  with  the  tramps,  to  accompany  them  as 
one  of  themselves,  live  with  them,  sleej)  with  them  in 
hay-barns  and  in  their  favorite  haunts  and  cribs,  and, 
in  fact,  to  learn  all  about  the  "  Life  of  a  Tramp." 

He  gazed  at  me  with  an  incredulous  stare  and,  I 
believe,  half  suspected  that  I  had  committed  robbery 


THE  LIFE   OF  A  TRAMP.  320 

or  murder — perhaps  both — and  that  I  liad  arrayed  ray- 
self  in  this  simple  and  unbecoming  but  very  efficient 
disguise  in  order  to  evade  the  officers  of  justice.  How- 
ever, when,  at  my  request,  he  escorted  me  to  the  ex- 
press-office, from  which  I  forwarded  my  valise  to  Phila- 
delphia, and  heard  me  tell  the  agent  to  send  it  to  the 
care  of  a  well-known  newspaper  in  that  city,  he,  I 
think,  discarded  his  suspicions  of  my  being  a  murderer, 
and  charitably  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  stark 
mad. 

After  leaving  the  express  office  and  passing  some 
distance  up  the  main  street,  we  encountered  my  friend 
— his  employer — who,  though  aware  of  the  nature  of 
my  expedition,  did  not  recognize  me  and  indignantly 
looked  around  for  an  officer  when  I  purposely  ran 
against  him  and  nearly  knocked  him  into  the  gutter. 
One  word  of  explanation,-  and  we  were  laughing  heart- 
ily together,  and  lie  insisted  upon  accompanying  me  to 
the  outskirts  of  the  city — to  the  beginning  of  the  long 
embanked  road  which  crosses  the  marshes  lying  be- 
tween Jersey  City  and  Newark. 

As  I  parted  from  him,  the  prospect  of  a  nine-mile 
walk  across  that  dreary  swamp  was  any  thing  but 
cheering,  for  there  was  every  appearance  of  rain  in  the 
morning.  The  heavy  clouds  had  entirely  covered  the 
sky,  the  night  had  become  intensely  dark,  the  damp, 
chilling  breeze  soon  compelled  me  to  put  on  my  jacket, 
and,  as  I  looked  back  at  the  bright  lights  of  the  city,  it 
seemed  as  though  I  had  severed  myself  from  the  world 

22 


330  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Moreover,  I  was  soon  in  a  position  to  state,  on  the  very 
best  of  authority,  that  the  New-Jersey  mosquito  season 
had  set  in  with  its  customary  severity.  In  my  loneli- 
ness, I  tried  whistling  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  as 
a  means  of  sustaining  my  fast-failing  courage ;  but  I 
soon  unconsciously  switched  off  into  the  far  less  lively 
air — 

"  I  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 

As  the  clock  was  striking  the  hour  n — 

and  I  at  once  began  to  think  of  footpads,  ghosts,  and 
other  equally  unpleasant  things.  The  breeze  soughed 
sorrowfully  along  the  telegraph-wires,  playing  the  most 
mournful  of  funereal  dirges ;  and  the  tall  white  poles, 
with  their  many  lofty  cross-bars,  stood  out  so  gaunt 
and  grim  against  the  black  clouds,  that  my  fevered  im- 
agination saw  in  them  the  horrible  road-side  gibbets  of 
half  a  century  ago,  and  I  half  expected  to  see  and  hear 
the  fast-bleaching  bones  of  some  quondam  Dick  Turpin 
or  Jack  Sheppard  rattling  in  the  chains  in  which  the 
outraged  laws  of  their  country  had  condemned  them  to 
be  hung.  I  lit  a  pipe  and*  hurried  on,  and  was  no  little 
rejoiced  when,  about  a  mile  farther  on,  I  caught  up  with 
a  small  boy  who  was  toiling  wearily  along  under  the 
burden  of  a  heavy  basket,  and  who  asked  me  how  far  it 
was  to  Newark.  The  company  of  that  shoeless  urchin 
was  a  godsend  to  me,  and  in  my  selfishness  I  silently 
and  heartlessly  thanked  his  mother  for  her  cruelty  in 
sending  him  on  so  long  a  journey  at  such  an  hour. 
At  last  our  eyes  were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the 


THE  LIFE   OF  A  TRAMP.  331 

lights  of  Newark  glimmering  faintly  in  the  distance. 
On  reaching  the  outskirts  of  the  town  I  thrust  a  twen- 
ty-five-cent  stamp  into  the  hand  of  my  youthful  travel- 
ing companion,  wished  him  good-night,  and  left  him  to 
trudge  on  to  his  destination.  I  bethought  myself  for  a 
minute,  and,  after  receiving  directions  from  a  wayfarer, 
I  took  my  way  to  the  police-station  and  was  soon  regis- 
tered under  an  assumed  name  on  the  list  of  transient 
visitors  to  that  very  inhospitable  hotel.  My  welcome 
consisted  of  a  thorough  inspection  and  interrogation, 
breathing  suspicion  in  every  look  and  word,  by  the  ser- 
geant on  duty.  The  sleeping  accommodations  offered 
me  were,  of  course,  bare,  hard  pine-boards.  I  accepted 
them  with  true  Christian  humility  and  thankfulness — 
the  reek  and  odor  of  humanity  included — and,  strange 
to  say,  I  slept  till  the  sun  was  above  the  horizon.  I 
was  surprised  and  glad  to  see  him,  for  I  had  fully  an- 
ticipated a  wet  day. 

Newark  is  too  near  the  great  metropolis  to  afford 
any  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  fresh  study  in  the  casual 
occupants  of  its  police-station  lodging-house.  There 
was  the  stereotyped  accumulation  of  rags,  tatters,  and 
uncleanliness,  of  beggars  and  bummers ;  all  looking 
very  abject  and  off-nerve  when  they  turned  out  into 
the  bright  morning  sunshine.  They  quickly  slunk  off, 
as  though  ashamed  of  themselves,  in  different  direc- 
tions, leaving  myself  and  one  tolerably-decently  clad 
though  dissipated-looking  young  man  in  sole  possession 
of  the  sidewalk.     He  looked  at  me,  I  looked  at  him  ; 


THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

the  operation  was  repeated  two  or  three  times,  and 
then  we  engaged  in  conversation.  I  told  him  that  I 
had  tramped  it  all  the  way  from  Buffalo  (Heaven  for- 
give me  the  lie  !),  and  that  I  was  going  on  to  Philadel- 
phia. He  said  that  he  had  come  from  Albany,  sneak- 
ing his  way  on  the  freight-cars,  and  that  he  was  bound 
for  the  same  destination. 

Here  was  a  prima-facie  bond  of  brotherhood.  He 
proposed  a  drink ;  I  proposed  breakfast,  and  we  went 
in  search  of  an  eating-saloon.  I  was  as  hungry  as  a 
hunter,  and  soon  dispatched  a  rather  tough  round- 
steak,  a  dish  of  very  greasy  fried  potatoes,  and  bread 
and  butter  and  coffee  to  match ;  my  new  acquaintance 
eying,  me  hungrily  all  the  while  and  frequently  throw- 
ing out  very  strong  hints  that  he  would  gladly  share 
my  breakfast.  I,  however,  obstinately  refused  to  com- 
prehend his  meaning ;  and,  when  I  tendered  a  five- 
dollar  bill  in  payment  for  my  meal  and  asked  for  the 
change,  he  looked  most  reproachfully  at  me.  He  evi- 
dently regarded  five  dollars  as  a  mine  of  wealth.  On 
the  landlord  discovering  that  he  could  not  and  that  I 
was  unwilling  to  pay  for  the  gin  cock-tail  he  had  had, 
he  was  summarily  ejected  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck, 
with  the  intimation — given  in  the  choicest  of  rum- 
saloon  language  —  that  he  was  a  dead-beat,  pur  et 
simple. 

When  I,  a  few  moments  afterward,  appeared  on  the 
sidewalk,  he  was  standing  a  few  yards  away.  He  at 
once  treated  me  to  a  volume  of  abuse,  called  me  a 


THE   LIFE   OF  A  TRAMP.  333 

"  damned  lousy  cuss,"  and  swore  lie  would  be  "  even 
with  me  before  night."  In  order  to  get  rid  of  him, 
I  offered  to  lend  him  ten  cents.  He  appeared  to  be 
entirely  pacified  at  this  mark  of  confidence  on  my 
part  and  promised  to  repay  me  the  money  that  same 
night  in  New  Brunswick,  though  he  did  not  say  any 
thing  about  a  place  of  meeting.  He  faithfully  kept  his 
promise — not  in  repaying  me  my  ten  cents,  but  in  car- 
rying out  his  previously-avowed  determination  of  being 
"  even  with  me  before  night."  I  little  dreamed  what 
my  short  acquaintance  with  him  was  going  to  cost  ma 
A  couple  of  miles  out  of  Newark  I  caught  up  with 
two  Italian  organ-grinders,  their  respective  wives,  and 
the  little  daughter  of  one  of  them.  They  were  journey- 
ing to  Elizabeth,  where  they  proposed  to  play  away  an- 
other day  of  their  monotonous  musical  life,  and  thence  to 
work  on,  organ-grinding  by  day,  sleeping  under  sheds 
by  night,  and  traveling  to  the  next  town  in  the  early 
morning,  till  they  got  to  Philadelphia.  There  they  pro- 
posed to  remain  a  while,  and  then  go  to  some  water- 
ing-place for  the  season.  All  this  they  informed  me  in 
Italian,  strongly  savoring  of  the  patois  of  the  Piedmont- 
ese  and  powerfully  perfumed  with  the  rankest  odor 
of  American  raw  onions.  They  only  knew  a  few  words 
of  the  English  language,  and  they  expressed  their  great 
delight  and  still  greater  surprise  to  find  that  I  under- 
stood them.  This  rather  alarmed  me.  I  saw  immedi- 
ately that  I  had  thoughtlessly  made  a  grave  mistake. 
But  I  got  out  of  the  difficulty  by  coolly  giving  them  to 


334  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

understand  that  I  had  lately  come  from  Mexico  and 
that  I  had  there  picked  up  some  Spanish.  I  was  never 
within  thousands  of  miles  of  Mexico  ;  but  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  me  to  sustain  my  role  of  tramp. 
Discovery  while  on  the  road  would  have  been  fatal  to 
the  carrying  out  of  my  idea. 

They  were  a  hungry  party,  these  Italian  organ- 
grinders  and  their  belongings,  and,  what  is  more,  they 
had  nothing  for  breakfast.  I  suggested  making  a  raise 
on  one  of  the  road-side  houses  and  offered  to  be  spokes- 
man on  the  occasion.  They  approved,  and  I  according- 
ly approached  a  trim-looking  villa  and  rapped  at  the 
kitchen-entrance  door.  A  somewhat  slovenly  damsel, 
with  a  fearful  cast  in  one  eye,  opened  the  door  and 
proceeded  to  squint  at  me  as  though  she,  would  have 
squinted  me  out  of  existence  if  it  had  been  in  her  power 
to  do  so. 

"  Young  woman,"  I  said,  in  as  deferential  a  tone  as  I 
could  assume,  "  be  a  good  soul  and  give  us  a  mouthful 
of  breakfast,  if  it's  only  dry  bread." 

How  awfully  her  eye  squinted  at  me  as  she  listened 
impatiently  to  this  short  appeal !  I  thought  it  would 
have  squinted  round  till  it  obtained  a  full  view  of  the 
inside  of  her  head  and  remained  squinting  there  in  as- 
tonishment for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

"  We  never  gives  any  thing  to  tramps  excepting  a 
drink  of  water,"  she  said,  with  all  the  snappishness  that 
the  female  tongue  could  command  at  will ;  and,  with- 
out even  waiting  to  hear  whether  we  would  avail  our- 

• 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAMP.  335 

selves  of  the  boon  of  the  water  without  something  to 
eat,  she  banged  the  door  in  my  face. 

I  afterward  found  out,  to  my  surprise,  that  this  is 
the  general  rule.  People  living  along  the  turnpike 
road  to  Philadelphia  have  so  long  been  pestered  with 
the  importunities  and  larcenies  of  tramps,  that  they 
seem,  one  and  all,  to  have  decided  to  put  a  stop  to 
them.  They  even  refuse  to  allow  them  to  sleep  in 
their  hay-barns.  I  tried  many  a  farm-house,  the  out- 
side appearance  of  which  and  the  size  of  the  surrounding 
barns  and  out-buildings  proclaimed  the  inmates  to  be 
well  to  do  in  the  world,  but  the  only  raise  I  succeeded 
in  making  all  the  way  from  Jersey  City  to  Philadel- 
phia consisted  of  three  very  stale  crullers,  given  to  me 
by  a  woman  at  a  cottage  in  the  entrance  of  the  village 
of  Kino*ston. 

I  traveled  with  the  organ-men  as  far  as  Elizabeth. 
Our  pace  was  necessarily  very  slow,  as  they  had  to 
carry  their  heavy  burdens  in  the  broiling  sun.  But  I 
wanted  to  learn  something  of  their  life,  as  they,  too, 
were  tramps.  Traveling  organ-grinders,  according  to 
their  account,  seem  to  have  a  pretty  hard  life  of  it. 
They  hire  their  organs  from  rapacious  men,  and  fre- 
quently do  not  earn  more  than  seventy-five  cents  to  a 
dollar  a  day  ;  on  a  wet  day,  less.  Moreover,  the  labor 
of  carrying  about  their  instrument  is  very  great ;  and 
the  monotony  of  playing  the  same  hackneyed  tunes 
from  morning  to  night,  from  week  to  week,  and  all  the 
year  round,  makes  their  life  very  wearisome.     About  a 


33G  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

week  of  it  would  drive  me  into  a  state  of  mind  which 
would  fully  warrant  my  friends  in  procuring  quarters 
for  me  in  the  State  Lunatic  Asylum.  Organ-grinding 
is  far  from  being  an  ennobling  occupation  ;  still  one 
cannot  withhold  one's  sympathies  altogether  from  the 
laborious  slaves  who  do  it  as  their  only  means  of  earn- 
in£  a  living. 

I  parted  from  the  organ-grinders  at  Elizabeth  and 
walked  straight  through  the  town  to  find  my  way  to 
the  railroad-track,  which  is  the  tramp  road  to  Rahway. 
Part  of  the  track  passes  through  an  extensive  wood, 
and  I  took  advantage  of  the  shade  to  lie  down  and  get 
a  couple  of  hours'  sleep.  I  was  aroused  by  another 
tramp  asking  me  if  I  could  give  him  a  chew  of  tobacco. 
I  found  him  a  very  decent  fellow.  He  was  a  mechanic, 
who  had  tramped  all  the  way  from  Dayton,  in  Ohio. 
He  had  endeavored,  unsuccessfully,  to  obtain  work  in 
the  ship- building  yards  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn 
and  was  going  to  Philadelphia  to  try  his  luck  there. 
One  of  his  feet  was  fearfully  galled  from  so  long  a  walk 
in  a  badly-fitting  boot,  and  I  felt  such  pity  for  the  poor 
fellow  that,  when  we  arrived  at  Rahway,  I  gave  him  a 
dinner.  He  was  very  grateful,  and,  as  we  journeyed 
along  the  hot,  dusty  ten  miles  of  road  between  Rahway 
and  New  Brunswick,  he  again  and  again  declared  that, 
had  it  not  been  for  that  dinner,,  he  feared  he  must  have 
broken  down.  At  New  Brunswick,  I  am  happy  to  say, 
we  persuaded  the  conductor  of  a  freight-train  to  let  him 
ride  to  Philadelphia,  the  conductor,  I  think,  being  in- 


THE   LIFE   OF  A   TRAMP.  337 

fluenced  by  my  disinterestedness,  when  I  told  him  that 
I  had  no  wish  to  ride  myself.  The  poor  fellow  gripped 
my  hand  tightly  as  I  parted  from  him  to  go  in  search 
of  some  modest  eating-saloon,  where  I  could  eat  and 
rest  a  while  before  resuming  my  tramp,  having  had 
nothing  to  eat  since  I  left  Newark  but  some  cold  beef 
and  dry  bread  at  Elizabeth,  which,  as  I  have  intimated, 
I  had  to  pay  for. 

Having  fortified  myself  with  a  substantial  supper  and 
refreshed  myself  with  my  two  hours'  rest  at  New  Bruns- 
wick, I  started  out  on  the  Princeton  road  in  search  of  a 
lodging — "  free  gratis  and  for  nothing" — for  the  night. 
I  asked  at  several  farm-houses  which  I  passed  for  permis- 
sion to  sleep  in  a  hay-barn,  but  I  invariably  met  with 
a  refusal.  Still,  I  trudged  cheerily  on  in  the  deepen- 
ing twilight,  thinking,  like  Mr.  Micawber,  that  some- 
thing must,  sooner  or  later,  turn  up.  But,  like  Micaw- 
ber, I  was  destined  to  be  disappointed,  and  at  last  be- 
gan to  experience  a  decided  sympathy  with  the  vexed 
spirit  of  Mr.  Mantalini,  and  to  exclaim,  "  Demme ! "  at 
each  successive  rebuff.  About  half-past  ten  o'clock  a 
farmer  so  far  softened  his  refusal  to  allow  me  to  sleep 
in  his  barn  as  to  inform  me  that  I  could  get  accommo- 
dation at  the  inn,  in  the  village  of  Six-mile  Run,  about 
half  a  mile  farther  on.  That  farmer  was  deceitful  and 
desperately  wicked  in  his  generation.  On  reaching  the 
in,n — the  Franklin  House — I  found  that  every  one  had 
long  ago  gone  to  bed  and  that  the  place  was  in  total 
darkness.     I  am  convinced  that  the  farmer  knew  that 


338  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

such  would  be  the  case.  Mr.  "  Billy"  Williamson,  the 
landlord,  forgot  to  apply  for  a  spirit  license  this  year, 
and,  as  his  sales  of  liquids  are  consequently  confined  to 
ginger-pop  and  soda-water,  he  does  not  find  it  profit- 
able to  keep  his  house  open  long  after  dark.  How- 
ever, I  lay  down  on  a  bench  under  the  stoop,  and, 
using  my  old  straw-hat  for  a  pillow,  I  slept  for  about 
an  hour.  But  my  hard  bed  and  the  chilly  air  soon 
sent  me  in  search  of  more  comfortable  quarters  and  I 
came  to  an  anchor  on  the  bottom  of  a  rockaway  wagon, 
in  which  there  was  some  hay,  which  stood  in  the  open 
carriage-house  of  the  inn.  I  curled  myself  up  in  the 
hay,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

How  .long  I  had  slept  I  do  not  exactly  know,  but  I 
presume  it  must  have  been  about  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  I  heard  voices  in  the  carriage-house. 

"  Holy  Moses  !  "  thought  I,  "  there's  an  end  of  my 
night's  rest." 

I  peeped  over  the  back  of  the  rockaw^ay,  and  I  saw 
four  men — one  of  them  the  very  friend  who  was  to  re- 
pay me  the  ten  cents  which  J  had  loaned  him  at  New- 
ark. 

"  Holloa,  cap  ! "  I  called  out,  sitting  up  in  the 
wagon. 

"  Who  the  hell's  that  ?  "  was  the  polite  rejoinder. 

I  got  out  of  the  wagon,  and  my  friend  at  once  rec- 
ognized me  and  expressed  his  pleasure  at  seeing  me 
again,  though  he  said  nothing  about  the  ten  cents. 
The  party  were  soon  seated  on  some  logs,  and  one  pro- 


THE   LIFE   OF  A   TRAMP.  339 

duced  a  large  hunk  of  corned  beef,  another  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  another  some  cold  potatoes  and  raw  onions, 
which  were  rolled  up  in  a  newspaper.  I  was  invited 
to  the  repast,  but,  having  had  supper  and  being  tired 
with  my  day's  walk,  I  preferred  to  return  to  my  friend- 
ly rock  away.  I  fell  asleep  just  as  they  were  beginning 
to  smoke,  after  they  had  eaten  as  much  as  they  wished ; 
having  gathered  from  their  conversation  that  they  had 
stolen  their  supper  from  the  larder  of  a  farm-house 
some  distance  along  the  road. 

I  was  soon  after  awakened  by  a  loud  guffaw,  fol- 
lowed by  "  Hush  !  you  God-damn  fool,"  and  a  silence 
of  some  minutes.  Thinking  that  a  conversation  mio-ht 
be  going  on  among  them  likely  to  give  me  some  idea 
of  who  and  what  these  my  fellow-tramps  were,  I  lay 
perfectly  still  and  gradually  began  to  breathe  heavily, 
is  though  in  the  soundest  sleep.  The  conversation 
was  renewed  in  low  tones,  and  judge  of  my  horror 
when  I  heard  my  ten-cent  debtor  remark  : 

"  Fact ;  the  nut  broke  the  bill  at  Newark ;  I  saw 
him  ;  he  ain't  drunk,  and  so  can't  be  bust  yet." 

"  Guess  we'll  help  him  with  the  rest,"  observed  one 
of  the  others. 

"He's  pretty  sound  off;  suppose  we  do  the  job  now 
and  git  before  he  has  a  chance  of  waking  ? "  said  another. 

"  Good  heavens,"  thought  I,  "  these  fellows  mean  to 
rob  me ! " 

I  was  on  the  point  of  springing  from  the  rockaway, 
thinking  to  make  a  dash  and  trust  to  my  heels,  when  I 


340  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

recollected  that,  before  leaving  Jersey  City,  I  had  taken 
the  wise  precaution  of  sewing  forty-five  dollars  in  the 
leg  of  my  sock,  and  consequently  that  I  had  only  three 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  and  my  knife  in  the 
pocket  of  my  trousers. 

"  Is  it  worth  while,"  I  argued  with  myself,  "  to  run 
the  risk  of  an  encounter  with  these  ruffians  for  so  small 
a  sum,  especially  as  I  must  make  a  momentary  spring 
from  so  awkward  a  vehicle  to  get  out  of  in  the  dark 
as  a  covered  rockaway  ?  " 

I  determined,  therefore,  to  remain  quite  still  and 
await  my  fate.  I  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  The  four 
ruffians  stealthily  approached,  feeling  their  way  along 
the  wagon  in  the  darkness  till  they  came  to  where  my 
head  was.  A  big  log  was  quietly  placed  in  position  for 
the  operator  to  stand  on,  so  that  he  might  reach  me  the 
more  easily ;  and  the  next  moment,  though  I  did  not 
see  him,  for  my  eyes  were  closed,  I  could  smell  his 
onion-perfumed  breath,  as  he  bent  over  me.  Much  as  I 
endeavored  to  control  it,  the  beating  of  my  heart  inter- 
fered with  the  regularity  of  my  breathing.  But  the 
thief  did  not  appear  to  notice  this  fact,  and  I  soon  felt 
his  hand  creeping  slowly  and  softly  down  my  left  side. 
He  went  through  me  "  in  no  time,"  as  the  Irishman 
said.  He  had  soon  possessed  himself  of  my  three  dol- 
lars and  seventy-five  cents  and  my  knife ;  had  found 
my  other  trousers-pocket  empty  and  had  taken  a  packet 
of  tobacco  from  the  only  coat-pocket  that  was  within 
his  reach. 


THE   LIFE   OF   A   TRAMP.  341 

The  scoundrels  at  once  proceeded  to  divide,  eacli 
taking  ninety  cents,  the  odd  fifteen  cents  and  tobacco 
going  to  the  one  who  had  done  the  "  trick,"  as  they 
termed  it.  I  was  in  a  cold  perspiration,  for  I  had  de- 
termined to  make  a  fight  of  it  if  they  discovered  the 
forty-five  dollars.  They  did  not,  however,  long  trouble 
me  with  their  presence,  and  I  was  intensely  relieved  at 
seeing  them  start  off,  not  along  the  road,  but  across  the 
fields,  just  as  the  first  gleams  of  daylight  shot  from 
the  eastern  sky.  I  sat  up  in  the  wagon,  feeling  for 
some  minutes  the  greatest  contempt  for  myself;  but, 
after  having  carefully  considered  the  matter,  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  I  had  shown  a  wise  discretion  in 
showing  the  white  feather,  and  I  started  on  my  way  to 
Kingston,  {hinking  that  I  was  well  out  of  the  affair. 
That  day,  however,  I  sent  home  thirty-five  dollars  by 
mail,  leaving  myself  only  enough  to  live  on  till  I 
reached  Philadelphia  and  to  pay  my  fare  on  the  cars 
to  New  York. 

As  I  started  along  the  dusty  road  toward  Kingston, 
a  somewhat  disagreeable  phase  of  my  night's  misadven- 
ture impelled  me  to  put  my  best  foot  foremost.  On 
leaving  the  carriage-house  in  which  I  had  been  so  vie- 
timized,  I  had  caught  sight  of  the  debris  of  the  feast 
which  the  thieving  rascals  had  held  there.  It  was  a 
pretty  tell-tale  exhibition  !  What  if  the  irate  farmer 
whose  larder  had  been  so  ruthlessly  raided  on  should 
come  along  in  pursuit  of  the  raiders  ?  My  artistically 
got-up  appearance  would  be  my  worst  accuser;  and 


342  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

there  would  be  nothing  for  me  but  to  endure  the  vil- 
lage lock-up  for — how  long  ?  Such  an  experience  was 
by  no  means  a  part  of  my  programme.  So  I  put  on  a 
spurt,  and,  on  coming  to  a  fork  in  the  road,  took  the 
turning  which  did  not  lead  me  to  Kingston.  By  mak- 
ing a  detour  of  about  two  miles  and  with  the  guidance 
of  a  very  intelligent  little  colored  girl  of  nine  or  ten 
years  of  age,  I  succeeded  in  entering  Kingston  from  a 
direction  which  would  have  entirely  absolved  me  from 
suspicion  of  any  participation  in  the  corned  beef  and 
cold-potato  robbery  of  the  night  before ;  and  I  shortly 
afterward  asked  for  a  breakfast  at  a  farm-house  with  as 
much  complacency  as  though  nothing  whatever  had 
happened.  But  the  fraudulent  Lazarus  got  his  just  de- 
serts in  the  shape  of  a  tin-cupful  of  water — very  fresh 
— from  the  well,  and  three  crullers — very  stale — from 
the  kitchen.  The  crullers  were  vastly  enjoyed  by  an 
animal  of  the  canine  species,  whose  distinctive  ethnol- 
ogy the  most  critical  dog-fanciers  of  New  York — not  ex- 
cepting the  late  much-regretted  and  most-eminent  Kit 
Burn  himself — would  have*  found  it  difficult  to  deter- 
mine. He  gratefully  wagged  his  tail  as  he  accompa- 
nied me  to  the  village  inn  at  the  top  of  the  hill  leading 
down  to  the  railroad  and  the  Delaware  &  Karitan  Ca- 
nal, where  his  less  grateful  master — the  landlord — evi- 
dently having  an  affection  for  his  spoons  and  not  lik- 
ing my  appearance,  curtly  refused  to  furnish  me  with 
breakfast  at  any  price.  Not  so,  however,  the  jolly 
Boniface  who  keeps  the  canalers'  wayside-house  at  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAMP.  343 

bridge  below.  He  readily  provided  me  with  break- 
fast, and  afterward  himself  escorted  me  up  into  his 
bay-loft,  where  be  promised  me  that  I  should  sleep  un- 
disturbed till  mid-day.  But  he  was  an  Irishman,  and 
probably  had  known  in  his  younger  days  the  luxury 
of  a  few  hours'  sleep  in  the  hay  to  a  thoroughly  weary 
man. 

On  bidding  my  good  Samaritan  good-day,  I  inquired 
the  way  to  Princeton,  and,  in  the  bar-room,  found  two 
tramps,  who,  like  myself,  intended  to  pass  through  that 
modern  classical  locality  on  their  way  to  Trenton,  my 
next  stopping-place.  I  joined  them,  and  we  crossed 
the  canal-bridge  like  Indians,  in  single  file,  our  leader 
rolling  out  in  true  rollicking  fashion,  "  It's  not  to  Dub- 
lin town  I'm  going,"  and  I  bringing  up  the  rear  with  a 
very  half-a-sleep,  lagging  sort  of  gait.  But  a  hundred 
yards'  rise  in  the  road  soon  thoroughly  aroused  me,  and 
the  three  of  us  trudged  along  side  by  side.  As  we 
passed  under  the  shade  of  the  magnificent  trees  in  front 
of  Princeton  College — those  trees  which  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards is  said  to  have  so  dearly  loved — our  conversation 
was  any  thing  but  in  harmony  with  the  sacred  precincts 
which  we  were  then  treading.  One  of  my  companions 
was  telling  me,  with  a  good  deal  of  frankness  and  volu- 
bility, that  he  had  lately  completed  a  term  of  good,  bad, 
or  indifferent  service  to  the  State  of  New  York  in  Sing- 
Sing  Prison,  an  establishment  which  he  said  was  "  Not 
at  all  to  me  likin',  at  all ;  it's  no  fit  risidence  for  iny 
man."     When  I  inquired  what  was  the  cause  of  his 


344:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

misfortune,  lie  suddenly  became  reticent,  and  all  that  I 
could  get  out  of  him  was,  that  it  was  "  just  a  leetle  dif- 
fikilty  wid  me  woife  an'  ckilder."  As  he  had  been  so 
very  communicative  on  the  other  points  in  connection 
with  his  incarceration,  I  of  course  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  "  leetle  diffikilty "  was  a  pretty  serious 
one,  a  conclusion  in  which  I  was  borne  out  by  a  whis- 
pered and  rather  illogical  communication  from  his 
"  pal,"  that  his  crime  was  "  desarshin,  arter  felinus  as- 
sarlt  in  silf-difinse." 

At  Princeton,  I  parted  with  my  very  casual  com- 
panions, being  desirous,  if  possible,  of  indulging  in  a 
divertisement  which  they  would,  in  all  probability,  as  I 
thought,  have  rendered  a  ridiculous  failure.  As  it  was, 
I,  myself,  failed  utterly  and  entirely.  Having  given 
them  a  fair  start  and  refreshed  myself  by  ducking  my 
head  into  a  stable-pail  full  of  water,  I  "  put  out "  for 
Trenton.  About  two  miles  from  Princeton,  I,  assuming 
an  air  of  manly  impecuniosity,  asked  a  farmer  to  let  me 
earn  the  price  of  a  dinner.  I  told  him  that  I  would 
willingly  do  half  a  day's  or  even  a  day's  work  in  order 
to  earn  sufficient  money  to  get  on  to  Philadelphia.  He 
eyed  me  with  manifest  suspicion  and  told  me  that, 
though  he  wanted  "  a  hand  all  summer,"  he  could  not 
give  me  a  day's  work.  From  time  to  time,  as  I  toiled 
along  in  the  scorching  sun,  on  that  foot-galling  Trenton 
turnpike-road,  I  made  similar  applications  to  many  a 
farmer,  but  they,  one  and  all,  refused  to  employ  me  for 
a  less  period  than  for  the  summer  and  fall  seasons,  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAMP.  345 

heavy  reduction  in  the  rate  of  my  monthly  wages  to  be 
made  if  I  left  their  service  before  the  termination  of  my 
engagement.  The  fact  is — as  far  as  I  can  judge — the 
farmers  between  Jersey  City  and  Philadelphia  are,  to 
use  a  sporting  phrase,  "  full  against "  tramps.  At  all 
events,  I  found  it  to  be  so  ;  for  I  have  never  wasted  so 
much  studied  and  natural  eloquence  and  so  much  in- 
genuity to  so  little  profit.  As  I  perspired  my  way 
toward  Trenton,  farmers,  as  professing  Christians,  had 
sunk  very  low  in  my  estimation,  and  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeking  Nature's  refuge  from  the  remembrance 
of  them  on  the  first  shady  hill-side  which,  like  the  oasis 
in  the  desert  to  the  tired  camel,  presented  itself,  not  to 
my  hungry  stomach,  but  to  my  wearied  limbs  and  wea- 
ried spirit.  About  sundown  I  awoke,  shook  myself 
like  a  Newfoundland  do«;  on  coming  out  of  the  water, 
lit  a  pipe,  and  strode  into  Trenton  "  like  a  giant  re- 
freshed with  wine." 

Ah  !  what  a  puzzling,  unwelcome  labyrinth  is  a 
strange  city  to  a  man  who  feels  that  he  is  more  than 
likely  to  fail  in  palming  off  his  (for  the  time  being) 
chosen  idiosyncratic  identity  !  I  was  lost  in  Trenton. 
To  all  appearances,  I  was  a  tramp,  and  a  most  suspicious- 
looking  tramp — a  stranger,  as  any  Trentonian  could 
have  seen  with  half  a  ward-politically-educated  eye  ; 
and  yet  I  was  an  innocent  would-be  nineteenth-century 
Don  Quixote  in  search  of  adventure.     I  found  it. 

I  meandered  around  the  railroad  freight  -  depot, 
lounged  along  the  tow-path  of  the  canal,  parrying  a 

23 


346  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

good  deal  of  slang  by  the  way,  and  finally  found  myself 
on  the  broken  bank  of  the  Delaware  Kiver,  just  above 
the  railroad-bridge  and  below  the  point  where  the  creek, 
which  runs  through  the  city,  falls  into  the  river.  I  sat 
bathing  my  burning  feet  in  the  gentle  eddies  which 
played  in  the  shallow  water  and  was  almost  lost  in  the 
beautiful  picture  painted  by  the  last  bright  colors  of 
the  fast-setting  sun,  as  they  glinted  and  glistened  on 
the  State-House  and  the  surrounding  foliage,  the  house- 
windows  and  the  upper  bridge,  and  turned  the  rapid, 
rushing  Delaware  into  a  stream  of  dull-crimson  fire— 
a  picture  rather  for  the  brush  of  a  Danby  than  a  Tur- 
ner— when  a  corduroyed  individual,  the  sound  of  whose 
approaching  footsteps  I  had  not  heard,  broke  the  charm 
and  bluntly  asked  me  for  a  chew  of  tobacco.  I  do  not 
chew,  but  I  offered  him  such  tobacco— smoking— as  I  had. 

"  Where  yer  goin'  ? "  he  asked,  after  a  little  desul- 
tory conversation. 

"  To  Philadelphia,"  I  replied. 

"  Not  to-night  ? "  he  rejoined,  interrogatively. 

"  No,"  I  said ;  and  then,  thinking  he  might  be  useful, 
I  continued  :  "  Say,  cap,  d'  yer  know  a  cheap  sleeping- 
crib  round  here  ? " 

I  learned  that  he  was  a  stranger  in  Trenton,  like 
myself;  but,  more  to  my  purpose,  I  also  learned  that 
he  had  but  a  few  minutes  before  engaged  half  a  bed, 
close  at  hand,  for  the  night  for  fifteen  cents,  and  that 
there  was  one  bed  still  disengaged.  In  my  haste  I 
almost  tore  my  socks  to  atoms  in  lugging  them  on  my 


THE  LIFE   OF  A  TRAMP.  347 

wet  feet ;  and,  pulling  on  my  boots,  I  hurried  off  with 
hirn  to  see  about  securing  that  one  remaining  bed. 

Passing  through  an  open  door-way  into  a  dark  and 
filthily-dirty  passage,  I  was  introduced  to  the  proprie- 
tress of  the  lodging-house.  She  was  as  fearful  a  looking 
specimen  of  the  female  sex  as  one  would  care  to  behold, 
much  less  to  encounter.  She  rather  astonished  me  by 
answering  my  inquiry,  whether  I  could  have  a  bed  or 
no,  with  the  counter-question,  "  Do  you  mean  to  get 
tight  before  you  go  to  bed  ? "  I  gave  her  the  strongest 
assurances  that  I  did  not,  and,  paying  my  fifteen  cents 
in  advance,  engaged — not  the  bed,  as  I  had  expected, 
but  only  one-half  of  it. 

There  were  three  other  beds  in  the  room,  which  could 
not  have  been  more  than  fourteen  feet  square.  Two 
rickety  cane-chairs,  an  old  broken-down  w^ash-stand,  a 
much-starred  looking-glass,  and  a  picture  of  the  Chicago 
fire,  constituted  the  entire  furniture  of  the  room.  At 
the  washstand  stood  a  great  brawny-chested  fellow, 
stripped  to  the  waist,  washing  his  shirt,  for  the  first 
time  for  many  weeks,  to  judge  from  the  color  of  the 
dirty  water.  I  was  roughly  informed  that  he  had  hired 
the  other  half  of  my  bed.  He  looked  at  me  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  Three-quarters  would  be  more  correct."  Having 
duly  inspected  my  uninviting  quarters  and  it  being  too 
early  to  take  possession  of  them,  I  and  my  fellow-tramp 
strolled  about  the  town  till  ten  o'clock,  when  we  re- 
turned to  the  lods;ino;-house. 

It  was  an  odd  scene.     All  the  other  lodgers  had 


348  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

• 

come  in.  My  bedfellow  had  hung  up  his  shirt  to  dry 
on  a  piece  of  string  stretched  from  a  nail  in  the  wall  to 
the  outside  shutter,  and,  in  his  stockings  and  trousers, 
was  already  sound  asleep.  Two  dirty-looking  ruffians 
were  executing  a  trombone-chorus  on  the  next  bed, 
having  neglected  to  comply  with  the  scrawling  notice 
stuck  on  the  wall  above  them — 

"  Men  will  please  take  off  their  boots  before  going 
to  bed." 

The  third  bed  was  occupied  by  two  lads,  apparently 
brothers  and  mere  boys.  They  were  chatting  in  a  low 
tone — I  could  almost  swear  of  home ;  for  they  had  an 
honest,  respectable  look  about  them  and  I  once  or  twice 
caught  the  word  mother.  On  the  remaining  bed — the 
one  in  which  my  friend  had  a  half  share — sat  a  man 
mending  his  trousers,  which  had  given  way  for  the 
twentieth  time,  judging  from  the  number  and  variety 
of  patches  on  them.  He,  too,  had  been  doing  some 
washing,  and  had  his  shirt,  under-shirt,  and  a  pair  of 
woolen  socks,  hung  out  to  dry  on  a  string.  He  was 
smoking  a  short  clay-pipe,  and  wished  us  "  the  time  o' 
day  "  as  we  entered.  He  shortly  began  to  indulge  in  a 
string  of  imprecations  against  the  clerk  of  the  weather, 
and  expressed  his  willingness  to  sell  his  soul  for  a  glass 
of  beer.  Without  desiring  any  reversionary  interest  in 
this  worthy's  future  being,  I,  nevertheless,  said  that  I 
had  fifteen  cents  left  and  was  willing  to  stand  a  quart 
of  ale,  if  he  would  fetch  it.  There  was  magic  in  the 
words.    My  bedfellow  and  the  two  dirty  ruffians  awoke 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  TRAMP.  349 

» 

on  the  instant  and  sat  up  in  bed,  just  as  the  amateur 
tailor  had  secured  the  fifteen  cents  and  was  holding  his 
finger  to  the  side  of  his  nose  as  a  cautionary  signal  to  me. 

"  Beer  !  I'm  there,"  exclaimed  dirty  ruffian  number 
one. 

"  An'  me  too,"  put  in  dirty  ruffian  number  two,  as 
he  stood  up,  stretched  himself,  and  yawned. 

u  Who  said  any  thing  about  beer  ? "  remarked  the 
deceitful  trousers-mender. 

"  That's  too  thin,"  rejoined  ruffian  number  two ; 
"  come,  hand  out." 

The  next  moment  a  rough-and-tumble  fight  for  the 
possession  of  my  fifteen  cents  was  in  full  operation,  the 
kerosene-lamp  was  knocked  over  (Heaven  only  knows 
why  it  did  not  explode  !),  the  landlady  rushed  in,  curs- 
ing like  half  a  dozen  Fourth- Ward  natives,  and  I  rushed 
out.  How  they  settled  the  matter  I  did  not  go  back 
to  inquire.  I  betook  myself  to  a  decent-looking  little 
hotel  for  the  night,  and  by  five  o'clock  the  next  morning 
was  crossing  the  bridge  over  the  Delaware,  on  my  road 
to  Philadelphia. 

To  my  great  surprise,  I  did  not  meet  a  single  tramp 
between  Trenton  and  Philadelphia,  a  distance  of  twenty- 
nine  miles.  This,  however,  was  easily  accounted  for. 
I  have  since  been  told  that  nearly  all  the  tramps  do 
that  part  of  the  journey  on  the  canal,  the  boatmen 
scarcely  ever  refusing  to  give  them  "  a  cast."  When  I 
walked  into  Philadelphia,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, I  began  to  suspect  that  I  might  just  as  well  have 


350  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

saved  myself  that  long,  hot  and  dusty  day's  walk  in 
the  broiling  sun. 

Nor  were  my  troubles  over  when  I  got  to  the  city. 
The  foot-passengers  would  not  hear  me  when  I  asked 
the  way.  The  street-car  conductors  could  not  see  my 
desire  to  ride.  The  policemen  regarded  me  with  more 
than  suspicion.  To  make  matters  worse,  my  editorial 
friend  was  out  when  I  arrived,  and  his  subordi- 
nates, who  did  not  know  me  when  I  walked  into 
their  office,  were  on  the  point  of  ordering  me  out.  I 
secured  my  valise,  however,  and  retired  in  high  dud- 
geon. I  was  hot,  tired,  and  hungry,  and  disgusted  with 
the  fact  which  gradually  but  emphatically  forced  itself 
on  my  mind,  that  I  had  wasted  a  day — that  I  had  swel- 
tered over  twenty-nine  miles  of  dusty  road,  to  my  great 
mental  and  physical  demoralization,  without  adding  so 
much  as  one  item  or  one  incident  to  my  experiences  of 
the  Life  of  a  Tramp. 

'A.  P." 


THE  BEGGARS'   BANQUET. 

We  sat  down  to  dinner  two-and-thirty ;  and  I  ven- 
ture to  say  that  no  more  strange  a  party  was  ever  col- 
lected together  around  the  festive  board  than  we  were. 
And  yet  we  were  as  merry  as  crickets.  We  had  no 
ostensible  skeleton  present,  and,  after  the  cloth  was 
cleared  (metaphorically,  for  the  only  covering  our  table 
boasted  was  an  oil-cloth  one,  from  which  the  pattern 
had  long  ago  disappeared),  we  had  "  a  feast  of  music 
and  a  flow  of  soul "  of  a  rare  description. 

The  scene  of  our  jollification  was  the  small  building, 
comprising  dining-room,  kitchen,  bar-room,  and  wash- 
house,  all  in  one,  which  Mr.  Thomas  Noble,  one  of  the 
leading  Delmonicos  of  Water  Street,  calls  his  "  first- 
class  eating-saloon."  It  was  formerly  Kit  Burn's  rat- 
pit.  In  this  little  home  of  revelry,  too  often,  I  fear, 
of  drunken  orgies,  we  were  as  tightly  packed  as  a  box 
of  sardines ;  so  tightly,  in  fact,  that,  on  the  conclusion 
of  the  entertainment,  the  getting:  out  of  the  first  one 
was  as  much  a  matter  of  difficulty  as  is  the  raising  of 
the  first  paving-stone  previous  to  the  repair  of  a  street- 
crossing. 


352  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

The  company  began  to  drop  in  by  ones  and  twos  a 
little  before  nine  o'clock.  Three  or  four  corner-loafers 
were  soon  attracted  to  the  spot,  and  watched  the  influx 
into  Noble's  little  place  with  an  air  of  whimsical  curi- 
osity. One  suggested  that  Tom  must  be  going  to  be 
married ;  another  that  he  had  had  a  legacy  left  hiin ; 
while  another,  after  puzzling  the  matter  over  in  his 
whisky-sodden  brain  without  coming  to  a  satisfactory 
conclusion,  emphatically  declared,  in  Water-Street  fash- 
ion, his  opinion  that  "  Tom  had  gone  clean  crazy."  A 
staggering  single  reenforcement  to  their  number,  who 
had  got  wind  of  what  was  going  on  from  the  fact  of 
his  invitation  having  been  recalled,  solved  the  mystery 
for  them  by  solemnly  chanting,  in  the  hoarsest  and 
most  unmusical  of  rum-resonant  tones,  the  old  nursery 
rhyme — 

"  Hark  !  hark  !     The  dogs  do  bark, 
The  beggars  are  coming  to  town  ; 
Some  in  rags  and  some  in  tags, 
And  some  in  silken  gown." 

Yes,  my  guests  were  the  blind,  the  halt,  and  the 
maimed.  They  were,  without  exception,  all  beggars, 
and  I  fear,  too,  the  great  majority  of  them  were  long- 
practised  "  bummers."  I  had  hunted  them  up  from 
the  highways  and  by-ways.  Every  one  seemed  to 
know  everybody ;  and  every  one  seemed  to  have  ar- 
rived with  as  voracious  an  appetite  as  the  Bohemian 
must  have  had  whose  dinner-hour  was  always  "  one 
o'clock  to-morrow."     It  is  recorded  of  a  venison-  and 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  353 

turtle-fed  alderman  of  London  that,  on  being  impor- 
tuned for  alms  by  a  starving  woman  in  the  street,  he 
exclaimed :  "  Go  away,  my  good  woman.  You  don't 
know  how  you  distress  me.  I'd  give  ten  pounds  to 
have  your  appetite."  Could  our  London  alderman 
have  seen  the  glistening  eyes  of  my  hungry  friends  (for 
it  was  stipulated  that  each  of  them  should  come  thor- 
oughly sober  and,  consequently,  with  an  appetite),  and 
the  nervous,  eager  manner  with  which  they  fingered 
their  knives  and  forks  before  the  eatables  were  placed 
upon  the  table,  he  would  have  gone  into  fits  of  jeal- 
ousy, and  perhaps,  like  the  Trolls  of  old,  of  whose  pe- 
culiarities we  read  in  Dasent's  "  Tales  of  the  Norse," 
and  Piggott's  "  Scandinavian  Mythology,"  he  would 
have  burst  on  the  spot. 

The  occasion  was  one  of  the  happy  hours  of  some 
of  the  most  notorious  and  accomplished  beggars  in  New 
York.  And,  poor  souls,  they  don't  have  many.  They 
can  truly  say,  with  Campbell : 

"My  gilded  hours  of  bliss  have  been 

Like  angels1  visits,  few  and  far  between." 

I  cannot  bring  myself  to  advocate  the  wholesale 
proscription  of  beggars  of  modern  times.  Begging  is 
a  decidedly  artistic  profession.  Its  roll  of  honor  is 
dignified  by  such  names  as  Blind  Bartimeus  and  the 
stern  old  Roman  general,  Belisarius.  And,  though  I 
think  the  open  encouragement  of  begging  in  the  streets 
of  Rome,  as  an  incentive  to  Christian  charity,  is  going 


3^±  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

inuch  too  far,  I  cannot  but  cordially  indorse  the  senti- 
ments expressed  by  Charles  Lamb  in  his  paper  on  "  The 
Decay  of  Beggars,"  in  the  "  Essays  of  Elia."  The  curb- 
stone singer  may  be  a  nuisance  ;  but  her  tatterdemalion 
children,  whether  hired  or  not,  are  deserving  objects  of 
sympathy.  What  can  be  more  touching  than  the  poor 
blind  man  groping  his  dark  way  home,  as  he  clutches 
the  piece  of  cord  attached  to  the  collar  of  his  faithful 
and  intelligent  dog  ? 

But  dinner  is  waiting.  The  fumes  of  beefsteak 
and  onions  are  growing  too  pungent  for  my  hungry 
guests,  and  I  must  return  to  them.  There  they  are,  all 
seated  in  their  places,  waiting  for  the  master  of  the 
feast,  and  whiling  away  the  time  by  exchanging  cheery 
but  generally  slangy  salutations. 

"  Sal,  old  gal,  how  goes  it  ? "  "  How's  the  milk- 
walk,  Jerry  ?  "  (Milk- walk  is  the  slang  for  begging-dis- 
trict.) " Music "  (benevolence  of  the  public)  "in  tune 
to-day,  Cully  ?  "  "  What's  the  price  of  gold  ?  "  "  Or- 
gan-grinding  lively  ? "  "  Earned  house  and  lot  to- 
day %  "  and  a  dozen  inquiries  of  similar  import  were 
made  and  responded  to  in  the  same  strain. 

I  cannot  say  that  our  company  was  what  theatrical 
managers  would  call  "  well  dressed."  None  of  them 
came  wearing  a  wedding-garment.  The  ladies  boasted 
but  one  bonnet  among  them,  and,  as  its  proprietress 
had,  the  night  before,  been  engaged  in  deadly  strife, 
with  brickbats  for  weapons,  with  a  rival  in  the  Five 
Points,  it  was  not  much  to  boast  of.     The  lady  in  ques- 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  355 

tion,  "Mary  the  Crow,"  alias  "The  Pride  of  Black- 
well's  Island,"  apologized  gracefully  to  me  for  its  bat- 
tered condition  and  also  for  the  appearance  of  her 
"  mug,"  as  she  called  her  face,  which  bore  terrible  evi- 
dences of  the  handiwork  of  the  brickbats. 

"  But,"  she  explained,  "  them  sargints  sends  you  on 
the  island  for  ten  days  if  yer  only  goes  to  the  station- 
house  for  a  bit  of  plaster ;  and  too  much  country  air 
ain't  good  for  me." 

One  old  gentleman,  known  as  "  Cully  the  Codger," 
wore  an  old  brown  overcoat  which  must  certainly,  at 
some  time  or  another  in  its  career,  have  seen  many 
years'  hard  service  as  a  scarecrow  in  a  cornfield.  It 
was  so  old  that  it  was  rapidly  turning  gray,  and  had 
already  become  a  sort  of  roan-color.  In  spite  of  the 
increasing  heat  of  the  room,  nothing  would  tempt  "  the 
Codger  "  to  remove  it  or  the  yards  upon  yards  of  woolen 
comforter  which  enveloped  his  throat  and  ears. 

"  They'd  be  sure  to  steal  'em,  sir,"  was  his  invariable 
reply. 

A  like  feeling  of  distrust  of  his  next-door  neighbor 
seemed  to  pervade  all  the  men.  Each  one,  as  the  only 
sure  way  of  guarding  his  personal  property,  sat  on  his 
hat,  if  it  were  a  soft  one,  or  wore  it  all  the  evening  if 
its  brim  were  so  stiff  as  to  render  it  an  undesirable 
cushion  to  Mr.  Noble's  wooden  benches.  There  might, 
too,  have  been  a  little  vanity  in  "  the  Codger's "  per- 
sistence in  wearing  his  overcoat,  for  it  was  the  only  one 
in  the  room.     Moreover,  he  is  a  very  old  man.     He 


356  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

spent  a  lifetime  of  beggar-life  in  the  city  of  Carlisle,  in 
England ;  and,  having  exhausted  the  lacteal  ducts  of 
charity  there,  came  to  this  country  eighteen  years  ago. 
How,  he  says  he  don't  know ;  most  probably  as  a  stow- 
away. With  the  exception  of  three  or  four  long,  thin, 
grizzly  hairs  on  the  scalp,  his  head  is  as  smooth  as  a  new- 
born baby's.  But  this  venerable  aspect  procures  for 
him  the  respect  of  his  fellow-beggars,  who  regard  him 
as  a  sort  of  patriarch  among  them.  "  The  Codger  "  is 
fearfully  afflicted  by  that  most  tormenting  habit  which 
Tom  Hood  described  as — 

"  Washing  his  hands  with  invisible  soap, 
In  imperceptible  water." 

But  the  oddity  and  singularity  of  my  ragged  guests 
was  nothing  compared  to  their  names.  Not  one  of 
them  is  known  by  an  ordinarily  civilized  cognomen, 
and  they  all  have  any  number  of  aliases.  The  police 
don't  know  their  real  names,  and,  what  is  more,  the 
police  tell  me  that  they  believe  that,  in  many  instances, 
years  of  nightly  intoxication  have  brought  about  a 
maundering  oblivion  of  their  original  names  and  of 
the  social  position  in  which  they  were  born.  That 
many  of  them  have  sunk  from  a  decent  standing  in 
society  is  certain,  from  the  evidences  of  education 
which  they  every  now  and  then  evince  in  conversation. 

The  following  is  a  complete  list  of  the  fashion  of 
beggardom  who  graciously  honored  Mr.  Noble's  saloon 
with  their  presence  at  my  invitation : 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  357 

"  Cock-eyed  Sarah,"  alias  "  Limping  Sal."  Sarah 
sometimes  stands  on  Broadway,  with  "  Please  Pity 
the  Blind"  placarded  on  her  maidenly  bosom,  and 
sometimes  does  the  Castle  Garden  district  on  a  crutch. 
She  is  a  shining  light  in  the  profession.  Then  there 
was  "  Dublin  Mag,"  a  tall,  scraggy-looking  woman, 
with  a  great  gash,  still  unhealed,  on  her  right  cheek ; 
"Mary  the  Crow,"  alias  the  "Pride  of  Blackwell's 
Island;"  "The  Pullet,"  not  at  all  a  bad-looking 
woman,  who  sin^s  and  dances  in  Water  Street  at 
night ;  Mary,  alias  "  Piggy  "  Sullivan  ;  Mary  Rogers, 
alias  "  String-o'-Beans."  Mary  is  a  great,  gaunt 
woman,  nearly  six  feet  high,  who  only  begs  of  very 
young  ladies,  and  frightens  them  into  a  charitable 
disposition.  "  Big-headed  Ida  ; "  Annie  Robertson, 
alias  "  the  Black  Hen ; "  Alice  Dunn,  alias  "  the 
Pincher ;  "  "  Scottie,  the  Horse ; "  and  "  Shanghai  Kate," 
who  is  also  nearly  six  feet  high.  So  much  for  the 
fair  sex. 

Among  the  men  were  "Luny  Ted,"  a  half-witted 
fellow,  who  has  been  portrayed  in  an  illustrated  news- 
paper ;  "  Cockney  Reddy,"  "  Burkey,"  Patsy  Lawler, 
alias  "Bold  Jack  Donohue;"  "Cully  the  Codger," 
"  Monkey  Jimmie,"  Patrick  Donohue,  alias  "  Mickey 
the  Fish ; "  "  Axe-handle  Jim,"  "  Lifty,"  a  well-known 
beowar  sneak-thief  ;  "  Chans:  the  Giant "  "  Straight- 
backed  Bill,"  "Wooden-legged  Jerry,"  "The  Dutch- 
man," alias  "  One-armed  Nelson ; "  "  Charcoal,"  "  Blind 
Scottie,"  "  Sore  Eyes,"  "  One-eyed  Welch,"  and  "  Eng- 


358  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

lish  Bill,"  alias  "The  Chinner."  To  these  must  be 
added  a  police-officer  in  citizen's  dress,  who  was  well 
known  to  all  present,  and  who  kept  merriment  within 
bounds,  another  gentleman,  and  myself. 

I  had  amused  myself  by  placing  several  copies  of 
the  bill  of  fare  on  the  table,  and  it  was  laughable  to  lis- 
ten to  the  various  comments  on  it.  Some  insisted  that 
it  was  German,  some  that  it  was  French,  while  "  the 
Codger  "  sententiously  declared  that  it  was  Latin,  and 
that  he  could  have  translated  it  for  the  benefit  of  the 
company  "  if  he  hadn't  left  his  spectacles  at  home."  As 
"  the  Codger "  has  no  home  and  is  well  known  to  al- 
ways carry  his  spectacles  in  his  pocket,  this  cool  asser- 
tion provoked  a  laugh  at  his  expense.  But  he  surveyed 
the  scoffers  with  supreme  indifference  and  contented 
himself  with  hoisting  the  greasy  collar  of  his  brown 
overcoat  still  higher  over  his  ears. 

The  following  was  our  bill  of  fare : 

HOTEL    NOBLE. 

Menu  du  Diner. 

Potage  aux  legumes. 

Filets  de  boeuf  aux  ognons. 

Pommes-de-terre  au  naturel — choux. 

Pain — beurre — from  age. 

Whisky. 

As  soon  as  the  soup  had  been  placed  upon  the 
table,  Mr.  Noble  came  to  the  front  and  rapped  for  si- 
lence with  the  handle  of  a  very  old  and  rusty  oyster- 
knife.      When   all  was   still,  Mr.  Noble   pursed   and 


TTIE    BEGGARS'   BANQUET.  350 

twisted  his  mouth  till  lie  thought  it  had  reached  a 
really  religious  expression,  turned  up  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  as  though  he  were  going  off  in  an  epileptic  fit, 
and  then  said,  in  pious  accents  :  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men all — Amen  !  "  Profound  silence  reigned  ;  for  asking 
a  blessing  before  dinner  is  a  form  which  most  of  those 
present  have  long  ignored,  if  not  entirely  forgotten. 
Mr.  Noble's  action  was  unexpected  on  my  part,  and  its 
effect  on  the  company  was  so  startling  that  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  maintain  my  gravity.  But  even 
that  marvelously  brief  grace  seemed  too  long  for  the 
hungry  stomachs  of  some  of  my  guests,  and,  the  mo- 
ment it  was  over,  they  fell  on  the  soup-tureens  as  Mr. 
Barnum's  lions  and  tigers  fall  on  their  daily  allowance 
of  shin-bones  and  scrag.  There  was  no  play  about  it. 
Business  was  strictly  attended  to.  As  soon  as  the  fire 
of  the  hot  soup  had  cooled  off  a  little,  nearly  all  the 
men  discarded  their  spoons,  raised  their  soup-plates  to 
their  mouths  ("  the  Chinner  n  remarking,  "  Here's  wish- 
ing you  good-health,  boss  "),  and,  as  soon  as  they  were 
empty,  held  them  out  for  more.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it,  they  were  as  hungry  as  so  many  Oliver  Twists. 
When  the  steak  and  vegetables  were  brought  on,  some 
of  the  men  made  mouthfuls  of  what  would  have  been 
sufficient  for  the  dinner  of  a  child  of  ten  years  of  age  ; 
and,  although  Mr.  Noble  provided  forty  pounds  of 
steak  and  twelve  large  loaves  of  bread,  besides  unlim- 
ited potatoes  and  cabbage,  every  thing  went  the  way 
of  the  soup  and  was  soon  "  lost  to  sight,"  though  per- 


360  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

haps  "  to  memory  dear  "  for  many  a  day  to  come,  ex- 
cept the  bones.  Each  and  all  had  "  a  good  square 
meal "  with  a  vengeance  for  once ;  and,  when  they  had 
finished,  as  they  stretched  ont  their  legs  and  caressed 
their  well-filled  paunches,  "  Fate  cannot  hurt  me,  I  have 
dined  to-day,"  beamed  in  their  eyes. 

While  dinner  was  in  progress,  scarce  a  sound  was 
heard  save  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks,  interspersed 
with  "  More  soup,"  "  More  steak,"  "  Another  tater, 
please,"  or  "  Pass  the  bread  along ; "  but,  when  the 
dishes  were  carried  away  empty,  the  conversation  at 
once  became  general  and  lively.  And,  when  Mr.  No- 
ble appeared  with  a  huge  demijohn  of  whisky  under  his 
arm,  a  buzz  of  "  Ah  !  "  went  round  the  room. 

But,  while  Mr.  Noble  and  his  assistants  were  j>our- 
ing  out  the  first  round,  "  Burkey  "  was  evidently  get- 
ting very  uneasy.  At  last  he  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and,  springing  up,  he  called  out : 

"  Boss,  I'm  bustin'  to  make  a  speech.  Somebody  run 
for  a  wooden  chair  for  me  to  stand  on.  I  can  speak 
Daniel  O'Connell  style  any  day ;  and,  if  I  don't  speak 
soon,  my  manly  bosom  will  be  torn  to  shreds." 

By  this  time  the  glasses  were  all  charged,  and  "  Bur- 
key  "  took  the  stand  to  j)ropose  the  first  toast  of  the 
evening,  reversing  the  general  order  of  things  by  giving 
the  toast  first  and  making  the  speech  afterward.  But 
then,  the  delicious  smell  of  the  liquor  probably  over- 
powered his  self-control.  "  Burkey  "  replied  to  "  Bold 
Jack  Donohue's "  comments  on  this  unusual  proceed- 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  3d 

ing  by  remarking  that  lie  followed  the  example  of  the 
man  who  attended  to  business  before  pleasure,  by  or- 
dering his  coffin  before  taking  the  Paris-green. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen/'  shouted  "  Burkey  "  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  u  here's  to  the  glorious  and  everlasting 
Constitution  of  America ! "  The  toast  was  responded  to 
uproariously,  and  every  glass  was  set  down  empty  with 
a  bang  in  honor  of  the  Constitution.  "  Burkey  "  re- 
sumed : 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,    I  came  here  to-night  to 

address  this  vast  audience  this  evening.     Mind,  I  do 

not  ask  any  man  or  woman  to  vote  for  me.     Don't  do 

it,  even  if  you  can't  help  it."     (Laughter.)     u  I  don't 

want  no  office,  and  I  don't  much  think  that  any  office 

wants  me.     But  I  here  lay  down  the  by-laws  of  the 

United  States  under  the  wing  of  the  glorious  eagle, 

and  I  always  mean  to  vote  and  stand  by  our  glorious 

Constitution."      (Cheers.)      "  We  turned  out  in  1812 

with  fiery  banners.     We  fought  for  our  country  and 

freedom."     (Loud  cheers.)     "  Who  fought  against  us  ? 

Wasn't  it  the  bold  Britons,  as  they  called  themselves  ? " 

(Cries  of  "  It  was,"  "  It  was.")     Well,  those  bold  Brit- 

ons  tracked  this  great  country  in  blood.    But  we  fought 

them  only  with  our  glorious  Constitution."     ("  That's 

horitory  ;  damn  me  if  that  ain't  horitory  !  "  from  "  the 

Codger.")     "  Ladies   and   gentlemen,    I've   fought   for 

my   country !      I've    bled    for   my   country !      I   got 

punched  in  the  nose  down  there  in  Centre  Street  at 

the  last  elections."    (Cries  of  "  Order  !  "  "  Order ! "  and 
24 


362  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

much  laughter.)  "  Where  was  the  grand  old  Consti- 
tution then  ?  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  seen  for  three  days 
afterward.  But  we  were  fighting  for  liberty  and  the 
Constitution  and  for — money.  Not  under  the  banner 
of  the  immortal  George  Washington,  but  under  the 
flying  colors  of  *  Boss  '  Tweed."  (Cheers.)  "  I  won't 
forget  him  the  next  time  I  visit  Sing  Sing."  (Laugh- 
ter.) "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  excuse  me  for  calling  you 
out  of  your  proper  names."  (Laughter,  and  cries  of 
u  Proceed.") 

Here  "  Mary  the  Crow  "  exclaimed,  "  Burkey,  you'll 
be  the  death  of  me." 

To  which  "  Burkey,"  evidently  much  gratified,  re- 
plied, "  I  shall  be  proud  of  the  honor,  Mary."  He 
continued  once  more  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  though  I  don't  attend  Henry  Ward  Beecher's 
church.  My  grandmother's  aunt's  cat's-tail  never  be- 
lieved in  Beecher  !  No  more  do  I.  But,  to  return  to 
politics.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  God's  sake  don't 
make  me  a  Senator  of  the  United  States  !  It  wouldn't 
do.  I'll  go  to  the  gallows  with  a  pig's  foot  first.  What's 
the  use  of  giving  a  man  twenty  shillings  a  day  if  he 
won't  work  for  it  ?  Me  and  Congress  has  got  nothing 
to  do  with  one  another.  I  met  Jim  Fisk  one  day,  and 
he  didn't  make  me  a  director  of  Erie.  But  he  asked 
me  to  take  a  drink.  I  refused.  I  never  drink  below 
me.  I  met  Mayor  Hall  one  day.  He  asked  me  if  I 
would  run  for  alderman  of  the  Fourth  Ward.     Says  I . 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  363 

What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  Honesty's  the  best  policy, 
your  honor  ;  but  I'll  take  the  price  of  a  night's  lodging, 
if  you  please.'  Ben  Butler's  tried  many  a  man.  What's 
that  got  to  do  with  Stokes  ?  They're  puttin'  up  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge.  What's  that  got  to  do  with  the  re- 
building of  Chicago  ?  No,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  don't 
none  of  yer  send  me  to  Congress,  unless  you  want  me 
to  live  in  clover,  and  you  in  tyranny  and  degradation. 
I  prefer  to  remain  in  the  Fourth  Ward,  and  support  its 
great  and  glorious  constitution." 

At  this  point,  Burkey's  eloquence  was  exhausted, 
and  he  took  his  seat  amid  prolonged  cheers  and  spent 
the  next  five  minutes  in  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  face  with  the  sleeve  and  tail,  alternately,  of  his  coat. 
Of  course  he  had  the  call,  and  he  requested  Patsy  Law- 
ler  to  favor  the  company  with  his  well-known  song  of 
"  Bold  Jack  Donohue,"  from  which  song  Patsy  takes 
his  sobriquet.  Mr.  Lawler  threw  himself  into  a  senti- 
mental attitude  and  started  in  a  strong  and  not  unmu- 
sical voice  : 

"  O  Erin !  my  country,  I  love  thy  green  bowers, 
No  music  to  me  like  thy  murmuring  rills  ; 
Thy  shamrock  to  me  is  the  fairest  of  flowers, 

And  naught  is  more  dear  than  thy  daisy-clad  hills." 

The  remaining  verses  were  all  similar  in  character, 
and,  as  "  Bold  Jack  Donohue "  continued  to  apostro- 
phize his  native  land,  the  tears  or  Mr.  Noble's  whisky 
bedewed  his  eyelashes. 

"  The  Dutchman,"  alias  "  One-armed  Nelson,"  was 


364:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

called  upon  to  respond  to  the  next  toast.  He  returned 
thanks  for  the  one-armed  men,  but  he  spoke  so  rapidly 
in  Dutch-English,  that  I  could  not  catch  the  meaning 
of  one-half  he  said.  In  the  course  of  his  speech  he  spoke 
of  his  missing  member  having  been  left  "  covered  with 
glory  on  the  field  of  battle,"  and  expressed  his  great 
indignation  that  an  ungrateful  country  should  allow 
him  to  earn  his  living  by  begging.  (Here  "  One-Eyed 
Welch  "  burst  out  in  a  torrent  of  sympathetic  groans.) 
Nelson  is  in  the  barrel-organ  branch  of  the  business ; 
but  there  are  those  who  maintain  that  his  arm  was  am- 
putated at  Bellevue  Hospital,  in.  consequence  of  its 
having  been  badly  crushed  when  its  proprietor  was 
knocked  headlong  down  a  cellar  in  a  Water-Street  fight, 
about  three  years  ago.  He,  however,  makes  good  use 
of  his  remaining  arm,  for  at  dinner  he  ate  just  as  much 
and  just  as  fast  as  the  others  did,  by  entirely  discarding 
the  use  of  a  knife  and  fork.  "  One-armed  Nelson  "  wound 
up  by  saying  that  he  would  not  have  two  arms  to-mor- 
row if  he  could  get  them.  One  arm,  he  said,  was  a 
first-rate  business  capital  for  a  man  who  could  hire  an 
organ.  It  only  took  one  arm  to  grind  the  organ,  and  a 
cap  placed  on  the  top  of  the  organ  was  far  more  effec- 
tive in  drawing  the  pennies  than  a  second  hand  would 
be.  Not  being  a  Leland,  I  have  not  attempted  to  give 
a  verbatim  report  of  "  One-armed  Nelson's  "  speech. 

"  The  Pullet,"  who  seems  to  be  a  general  favorite 
with  everybody  in  the  profession  and  is  looked  upon 
as  a  sort  of  prima  donna  in  the  singing  line,  was  then 


THE  BEGGAKS'    BANQUET.  3G5 

loudly  called  upon  for  a  song  ;  and,  after  many  sim- 
pering "  ask-me-again "  refusals,  she  smiled  a  conde- 
scending acquiescence  and  poured  forth  the  well-known 
"but  sadly  hackneyed  strains  of  "  Love  Not ;"  and  then, 
as  an  encore,  plaintively  requested  some  absent  unknown 
to  "Take  Back  the  Heart  which  Thou  Gavest."  This 
last  effort  wras  listened  to  with  solemn  wonder  and  with- 
out interruption  of  any  sort  by  the  men,  but  brought 
tears  into  the  eyes  of  "  Cock-eyed  Sarah  "  and  "  String- 
o'-Beans,"  the  latter  assuring  me  that  it  was  u  real  lovely 
and  touching." 

As  soon  as  the  rapping  on  the  table  had  subsided, 
fresh  chews  of  tobacco  had  been  handed  round,  and 
"  The  Codger "  had  given  the  collar  of  his  overcoat 
another  hoist,  "Dublin  Mag"  ascended  the  rostrum  (a 
three-legged  chair,  with  the  back  broken  off,  the  wall 
taking  the  part  of  the  fourth  leg),  to  respond  to  the 
toast  of  "  Woman's  Rights."  Ma^  took  her  stand  with- 
out  hesitation,  steadied  herself  against  the  corner  of  the 
bar,  glanced  unflinchingly  at  her  audience  for  a  moment, 
and  said: 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen :  A  woman's  a  woman ;  and, 
as  long  as  a  woman's  a  woman,  she  ought  to  have  wom- 
an's rights.  ("  Right  you  are,  old  Dublin,"  from  "  Mary 
the  Crow.")  "  Mary  !  "  exclaimed  Mag,  tossing  her  head 
disdainfully,  "  who's  bossing  this  speech — you  or  me  ? 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  as  I  said  before  'the  Crow' 
stopped  me  with  her  insulting  tongue — I'll  be  even  with 
her  'fore  morning  "  (here  '  the  Crow '  toyed  with  a  pecul- 


366  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

iar  and  meaning  playfulness  with  the  heavy  glass  tum- 
bler before  her) — "  a  woman's  a  woman  ;  and  as  long  as 
a  woman's  a  woman  she  ought  to  have  woman's  rights. 
Now,  my  idea  of  woman's  rights  is  just  this :  We've  a 
right  to  drink  what  we  please.  We've  a  right  to  do 
just  as  we  please,  go  where  we  please,  and  come  when 
we  please.  We've  a  right  to  get  all  we  can,  and  a  right 
to  all  we  can  get."  ("How  about  the  wotin',  Mary  ?  " 
from  "  Burkey-")  "  Oh,  damn  the  voting  !  I  beg  your 
pardon,  boss ;  I  really  didn't  mean  it.  No,  I  don't  want 
no  vote.  But  a  woman's  got  no  rights  up  at  the  station- 
house  or  the  Tombs.  They  send  us  up  on  the  island 
as  though  we  ain't  no  better  than  nothing  ! "  ("  Hear  ! 
hear!  "from  "the  Codger.")  "They  do!  That  ain't  wom- 
an's rights  !  No,  sir-ree  ! "  (General  applause.)  "  I  never 
refuse  a  glas3  of  liquor,  and  I  know  when  I've  had 
enough.  But  them  cops  sometimes  thinks  I've  had 
enough  'fore  I  have.  They  always  thinks  they  knows 
better  than  anybody  else.  That  ain't  woman's  rights  ! 
(Prolonged  applause.)  "  Then  it's  c  If  you  don't  git,  I'll 
take  you  in,'  if  you  only  just  ask  a  gentleman  for  the 
price  of  a  night's  lodging  or  a  drink.  That  ain't  woman's 
rights  !  Is  it  % "  (Loud  cries  of  "  No  !  no  !  ")  "  No,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,"  cried  Dublin  Mag,  warming  to  her 
subject,  and  bringing  down  her  foot  in  a  way  which 
threatened  still  further  to  decrease  the  number  of  legs 
of  the  chair  on  which  she  stood ;  "  no,  and  as  long  as 
there's  any  of  them  cops  around  we  sha'n't  have  no 
woman's  rights.     Nor  you  men  neither." 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  367 

This  last  very  much  niixed-up  expression  brought 
down  the  house,  and  Dublin  Mag  resumed  her  seat 
amid  a  perfect  storm  of  applause.  She  at  once  proceeded 
to  drown  her  bitterness  against  the  "  cops  "  in  a  whole 
tumbler  of  whisky,  sighing  as  she  replaced  the  empty 
tumbler  on  the  table  and  wiping  her  mouth  on  the 
sleeve  of  her  dress  with  an  air  of  much  complacency. 

For  some  minutes  afterward,  "  One-legged  Jerry,"  his 
face  beaming  with  smiles  of  approval,  continued  to  pat 
Mag  on  the  back  and  exclaim ;  "  Bravo,  Mag,  fine  gal," 
etc.,  and  only  desisted  when  Mag  said  rather  sharply, 
"  Drop  that,  old  'un,  or  you'll  give  me  the  hiccups, 
damn  you  ! " 

Mag  called  upon  "  Cockney  Eeddy "  for  a  song. 
This  worthy  derives  his  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
English  metropolis  is  his  birthplace  and  that  his  hair  is 
the  brightest  shade  of  carrot-color.  He  announced  his  in- 
tention of  singing  a  song  about  an  old  gray  mare — "  Not 
my  wife ;  I  hain't  got  one ;   but  a  regular  hold  gray 


mare : " 


"  Has  my  hold  gray  mare  and  hi 
The  'erases  go  rattlin'  by, 
The  little  ones  peer,  the  hold  ones  stare 
And  hopen  their  heyes  in  great  surprise 
At  Joe  and  'is  rattlin'  mare." 

The  remainder  of  the  song  was  nothing  but  a  new 
version  of  "  Johnny  Gilpin." 

u  English  Bill,"  alias  "  The  Chinner,"  then  responded 
to  a  call,  and  sang  the  old  ballad  of  the  highwayman 
who  boasted,    "  I  never  robbed  a  poor  man  upon  the 


368  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

king's  highway."     At  the  end  of  every  verse  the  com- 
pany sang  with  great  gusto  the  refrain : 

"  Brennan  on  the  moor  ! 
Brennan  on  the  moor ! 
Bold  and  undaunted  stood 
Young  Brennan  on  the  moor." 

"The  Chinner"  was  warmly  applauded,  but  reso- 
lutely declined  an  encore  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
"  very  'oarse." 

The  next  toast  in  order  was  the  health  of  the  one- 
legged  men.     I  coupled  with  it  the  name  of  "  Wooden- 
legged  Jerry,"  and  called  upon  him  to  return  thanks. 
Jerry  is  one  of  the  most  accomplished  artists  in  the 
metropolis.    He  follows  two  branches  of  the  profession — 
the  half-inaudible  whine,  and  the  intimidating  of  young 
girls  by  persistent  following.     If  an  officer  comes  in 
sight  he  disappears,  in  spite  of  his  wooden  leg,  almost 
as  quickly  as  if  he  had  gone  through  a  trap-door  in  the 
pavement.     Jerry,  besides  being  lame,  is  a  little  blind, 
and  possesses  a  hissing,  husky  voice,  which  sounds  very 
much  like  chronic  catarrh,  even  if  not  like  consumption. 
It  is,  however,  the  effect  of  years  of  whisky-drinking. 
Jerry's  throat  is  what  the  French  call  pave.     He  can 
drink  a  whole  tumbler  of  fusel-oil  whisky  without  so 
much  as  blinking  an  eye.     Jerry  is  a  marvelous  com- 
bination of  character.     He  is  a  sort  of  mixture  of  chia- 
roscuro, sotto-voce,  piano-piano,  braggadocio,  and  Bom- 
bastes  Furioso.    He  may  be  described  as  all  tongue  and 
wooden  leg.     The  name  of  the  celebrated  old  London 


THE   BEGGA-RS'   BANQUET.  309 

hostelry — tlie  Magpie  and  Stump — would  not  be  at  all 
inapplicable  to  liini  as  a  sobriquet.  But  Heaven  forbid 
that  I  should  say  a  word  that  might  detract  one  iota 
from  Jerry's  acknowledged  merits  and  social  position 
as  a  beggar.  He  is  beggarly  aristocratic  to  the  back- 
bone. His  blood  is  blue  as  that  of  the  purest  Andalu- 
sian,  and  he  is  always  indignant  if  any  insulting  scoffer 
attributes  it  to  the  combined  effects  of  cold  snaps  and 
blue-ruin. 

Having  steadied  himself  on  his  wooden  and  fleshly 
legs,  Jerry  spoke  as  follows  :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen  : 
It's  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  find  myself  among  this 
here  honorable  company,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged  to 
the  honorable  boss  for  the  very  honorable  way  in  which 
he  proposed  his  honorable  toast.  But,  with  the  honor- 
able boss's  permission,  I  will  say  he  forgot  one  thing  in 
proposing  his  honorable  toast.  He  didn't  order  '  a 
round '  first."  (General  cries  of  "  Hear !  hear  !  "  and 
much  rattling  of  glasses.)  "  Perhaps,  fore  I  go  on,  the 
honorable  boss  will  order  Tom  to  make  that  straight." 

Mr.  Thomas  Noble  and  his  assistants  immediately 
went  round  and  supplied  the  deficiency,  after  which 
Jerry  resumed  his  speech. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  our  honorable  boss  is  an 
out-and-out  real  gentleman,  who  knows  how  to  take  a 
hint  when  it's  given  him.  I  sha'n't  forget  him  next 
time  I  meet  him  when  Pm  out  on  business  in  Broadway." 
(Shouts  of  laughter,  but  Jerry  as  grave  as  a  master-un- 
dertaker at  a  funeral.)     I  forgot  to  say  that  Jerry  occa- 


370  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

sionally  hires  a  soldier's  overcoat  and  barrel-organ. 
Jerry  continued :  "  Well,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  as  I 
said  afore,  the  honorable  boss  is  an  out-and-out  real 
gentleman,  and  I  beg  to  propose  his  very  good  health." 
(Loud  and  prolonged  cheering.)  "  And  I  say,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  that  if  ever  the  honorable  boss 
loses  a  leg  and  wants  to  go  into  the  business,  let  him 
come  to  '  Wooden-legged  Jerry,'  and  he'lL  show  him 
the  inside  tracks  free  gratis  and  for  nothing.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  the  honorable  boss's  very  good  health." 
(Aside  to  Mr.  Noble  :  "  Bumpers,  if  you  please,  Tom  ! ") 

Mr.  Noble,  of  course,  quickly  responded  to  the  call, 
and,  after  my  health  had  been  uproariously  drunk,  Jer- 
ry, who  had  managed  to  lift  himself  on  to  the  table, 
unscrewed  his  wooden  leg,  and,  using  it  as  a  conductor's 
baton  to  beat  time  to  the  music,  led  off  "  For  He's  a 
Jolly  Good  Fellow,"  in  which  all  most  inharmoniously 
joined.  I  never  heard  such  a  chorus.  Nor  do  I  think 
I  shall  soon  forget  Jerry  seated  on  the  table,  keeping 
time  with  his  wooden  leg,  with  all  the  gravity  of  a 
Julien  or  a  Thomas. 

I  returned  thanks  in  a  few  words,  and  then  called 
on  "  Cully  the  Codger  "  for  a  song.  "  The  Codger  "  im- 
mediately began  to  rinse  his  hands  frantically,  and 
asked  whether  I  would  like  a  sentimental  or  a  comic 
song.  I  suggested  one  with  a  chorus.  After  at  least 
two  minutes  wasted  in  preliminary  rinsing  of  his  hands, 
in  spite  of  repeated  cries  of  "  Hurry  up,  Cully,"  "  the 
Codger  "  at  last  got  under  way  with  an  English  song : 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  371 

"  I'm  a  broken-hearted  milkman,  in  grief  I'm  arrayed, 
Through  keepin'  the  comp'ny  of  a  young  servin'-maid, 
Who  lived  on  board  wages,  the  house  to  keep  clean, 
In  a  gentleman's  fam'ly  on  Paddington  Green. 
She  was  beautiful  as  a  butterfly,  and  as  proud  as  a  queen 
Was  pretty  little  Polly  Perkins  of  Paddington  Green." 

The  last  two  lines  were  uproariously  sung  in  chorus. 
The  remainder  of  the  sons*  wrent  on  to  describe  how  the 
youthful  affections  of  the  milkman  had  been  forever 
lacerated  and  blasted  by  the  levanting  of  the  fickle 
Polly  "  with  the  bow-legged  conductor  of  a  tuppenny 
'bus." 

"The  Codger"  then  sang  a  regular  old-fashioned 
pious  curb-stone  ballad,  the  concluding  line  of  which 
was,  "  I'll  beg  my  wfay  to  heaven's  gate  yet." 

"  Say,  Cully,"  cried  "  Burkey,"  "  there  ain't  above 
twxo  or  three  gray  hairs  between  you  and  heaven  al- 
ready," alluding  to  "  the  Codger's  "  bald  pate. 

"  The  Codger "  took  no  further  notice  of  "  Bur- 
key's  "  impudence  than  by  giving  his  over-coat  collar 
another  hoist. 

"  One-eyed  Welch "  rose  nimbly  to  his  feet,  amid 
cries  of  "  Stand  at  ease,"  "  Dress  to  the  right,"  "  Shoul- 
der arms,"  etc.,  to  return  thanks  for  those  members  of 
the  profession  who  are  minus  an  optic ;  all  efforts  at 
persuasion  having  failed  to  get  "  Sore  Eyes  "  to  return 
thanks  for  the  blind. 

Mr.  Welch  presents  a  pitiable  spectacle,  one  well 
calculated  to  work  on  the  sympathies  of  the  tender- 
hearted.    And  Mr.  Welch  works.     At  the  battle  of 


372  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Fair  Oaks  lie  was  struck  on  the  right  side  of  the  face  by 
a  spent  piece  of  shell,  which  carried  away  the  right 
eye  and  eyebrow  and  part  of  the  cheek,  fractured  his 
skull,  and  stripped  the  eye  and  frontal  bones  for  a 
space  of  about  two  inches  square.  He  was  left  for 
dead  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  it  seems  a  miracle  that 
he  ever  recovered  from  such  a  frightful  wound.  By  the 
aid  of  a  little  making-up,  a  bandage  of  dirty  linen 
wound  round  and  round  the  uninjured  part  of  his  head, 
so  as  to  convey  the  impression  that  the  worst  is  unseen, 
a  long,  tattered  coat,  a  thick  stick,  and  a  well-assumed 
lameness,  he  contrives  to  drain  about  a  dollar  and  a 
half  a  day  from  the  pockets  of  the  charitable. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  One-eyed  Welch,  "  I 
return  my  humble  thanks  for  the  handsome  way  in 
which  you've  drunk  to  the  health  of  the  one-eyed  men. 
I'm  no  speaker,  but  I  can  say  this,  that  some  one-eyes 
sees  better  than  two.  I  can  see  a  likely  old  lady  or 
gent  with  half  an  eye,  and  keep  the  other  half  for  the 
cop  round  the  corner.  What's  the  use  of  more,  when 
you've  got  enough  to  strike  the  flats  with  ?  "  ("  That's 
horitory  !  Damn  me  if  that  ain't  horitory !  "  from  "  the 
Codger.")  After  giving  utterance  to  this  piece  of  pro- 
found wisdom,  "  One-eyed  Welch  "  resumed  his  seat, 
amid  general  manifestations  of  approval. 

"  The  Pullet "  once  more  responded  to  a  call  for  a 
song,  when  she  favored  the  company  with  "  The  Song 
of  Blackwell's  Island."  After  reciting  how  she  got  to 
the  island,  and  became  so  ill  that  her  recovery  was 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  373 

doubtful,  the  heroine  of  Black  well's  Island  is  supposed 
to  sing  from  her  sick-bed  : 

"  If  the  great  God  spare  me,  I'll  lead  a  different  life ; 
And  to  my  loving  husband  I'll  prove  a  constant  wife  : 
If  bad  company  tempts  me,  I  will  shun  them  all, 
And  think  of  1117  resolutions  in  the  Charity  Hospital." 

At  this  solemn  conclusion  to  "  the  Pullet's  "  song, 
all  the  women  began  to  snivel,  and  the  men  to  look 
very  grave.  But  it  was  a  mere  passing  spasm,  quickly 
removed  by  Mr.  Noble  dispensing  another  round  from 
the  flowing  bowl.  The  next  moment  the  ball  was  roll- 
ing  again,  and  fun  and  laughter  resounded  on  every 
side — none  changing  "  from  grave  to  gay  "  with  such 
apparent  want  of  effort  as  the  ladies,  wrhose  shawls  and 
sleeves  had  a  moment  before  been  so  busily  occupied. 

But  by  this  time  it  was  growing  late,  and,  as  my 
guests  had  all  had  quite  as  much  to  drink  as  I  chose 
to  give  them,  and  I  was  desirous  that  none  of  them 
should  sleep  in  the  station-house,  I  rose  to  propose  the 
last  toast,  the  health  of  the  ladies — a  toast  which  was 
received  with  a  round  of  applause.  Contrary  to  cus- 
tom, I  had  asked  one  of  the  ladies  themselves  to  re- 
spond to  the  toast,  and  she  had  readily  assented  to  the 
proposal ;  Mr.  Noble  prompting  me  to  call  on  "  Cock- 
eyed Sarah." 

But,  before  commencing  her  speech,  "  Cock-eyed 
Sarah,"  alias  "  Limping  Sal,"  went  through  a  variety 
of  preliminaries.  After  standing  up,  she  first  bent  her 
head  and  quietly  dropping  an  enormous  chew  of  tobac- 


374  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

co  into  the  palm  of  her  hand,  transferred  it,  for  econ- 
omy's sake,  to  the  pocket  of  her  tattered  dress.  Then 
she  turned  her  head  gracefully  on  one  side,  and  ejected 
a  perfect  cataract  of  tobacco-juice.  Then  she  hitched 
her  dress,  first  at  one  hip  and  then  at  the  other,  and 
ended  her  preparations  by  squinting  fearfully  for  about 
half  a  minute  at  her  audience. 

Tbv  B6v  TapfSyjo-as  Trpoaecprj  fcparepbs,  "  Cock-eyed  Sarah." 

"  Ahem  !  Shakespeare.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  un- 
accustomed as  I  am  to  speaking  in  public — except  when 
I  say :  '  Kind  gentleman,  won't  yer  give  a  poor  old 
widow- woman  what's  starvin'  the  price  of  a  supper  and 
a  night's  lodging  ?  "  This  sally  of  Sal's  produced  roars 
of  laughter,  for  she  acted  the  whining  tone  and  cring- 
ing attitude  of  the  professional  beggar-woman  to  per- 
fection. When  order  was  restored,  Sal  resumed  her 
speech  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen — "  ("  That's  right,  Sal,  al- 
ways speak  well  of  your  betters,"  from  "  Straight- 
backed  Bill.")  "  Young  man,"  furiously  exclaimed  Sal, 
her  eyes  flashing  like  those  of  an  angry  tigress,  and  her 
bosom  heaving,  like  a  dozen  volcanoes,  from  indigna- 
tion, "  your  mother  didn't  learn  you  manners.  If  you 
don't  close  that  tater-trap  of  yourn  I  shall  just  take  one 
step  over  this  table,  one  step  to  where  you're  sittin', 
and  shall  be  under  the  painful  necessity,  on  this  festive 
occasion,  of  dislocating  your  spinal  cord."  (Roars  of 
laughter.) 

But  Mr.  Tom  Noble  was  equal  to  the  emergency. 


THE   BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  375 

He  sprang  to  the  bar,  giving  "  Straight-backed  Bill "  a 
terrific  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head  by  the  way,  and 
the  next  moment  a  tremendous  horn  of  pacifying  whis- 
ky was  rushing  down  Sal's  throat.  The  medicine  acted 
immediately,  and,  having  blown  her  nose  on  the  corner 
of  her  shawl,  Sal  proceeded  once  more  to  address  the 
company  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  as  much  a  lady  as 
any  man  or  woman  here,  exceptin'  the  boss."  (Laugh- 
ter, in  which  Sal  herself  joined.)  "  If  anybody  says  I 
ain't  a  lady,  let  'em  come  outside  and  I'll  show  'em,  man 
or  woman."  ("  That's  horitory !  Damn  me  if  that 
ain't  horitory  !  "  from  "  the  Codger.") 

"  The  Codger  "  is  a  great  friend  of  "  Limping  Sal's." 
There  is  no  relationship  whatever  between  them.  But 
"  the  Codger  "  has  for  years  past  displayed  a  platonic 
affection  for  Sal,  somewhat  similar  to  that  which  Hor- 
ace Walpole  felt  for  Charlotte  Berry  and  her  sister.  If 
Sal  wants  a  drink,  a  supper,  or  a  night's  lodging,  she 
can  always  get  it  from  '  the  Codger  "  if  he  has  an  extra 
stamp  in  his  pocket. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued  Sal,  "  I  rose  at 
the  boss's  request  to  return  thanks  for  the  ladies,  and  I 
should  have  been  through  long  ago  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  l  Straight-backed  Bill.'  Ladies  is  invallible  at 
a  party.  You  can't  no  more  get  on  without  them  than 
you  can  without  men."  ("  That's  horitory  !  Damn 
me  if  that  ain't  horitory  !  "  from  "  the  Codger.")  "  La- 
dies is  ladies,  and  always  will  be  ladies  as  long  as  the 


376  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

world  lasts.  That's  so,  boss  ;  ain't  it  ?  The  boss  knows 
that,  or  he  wouldn't  have  asked  so  many  ladies  to  be 
present  at  this  splendid  entertainment.  The  boss  drank 
to  the  health  of  the  ladies  "  ("  That  you  did,  boss. 
God  bless  yer !  "  from  "  Mary  the  Crow  ")  ;  "  and  I  am 
proud  to  be  one  of  this  honorable  company.  Boss,  on 
behalf  of  the  ladies,  I  return  you  our  grateful  thanks ; 
and,  if  youVe  got  a  lady  at  home,  I  say  '  God  bless 
her.' " 

This  was  more  than  "  the  Codger "  could  stand. 
"  That's  horitory  !  Damn  me  if  that  ain't  horitory  !  " 
he  exclaimed  enthusiastically  ;  and,  rising  slowly  to  his 
feet,  he  placed  his  arm  round  Sal's  waist  and  kissed 
her  before  the  company,  remarking,  as  he  did  so,  "  Sal, 
old  gal,  I'm  proud  o'  yer !  " 

This  was  a  climax  which  enabled  me  to  break  up 
our  party.  I  spoke  a  few  words  of  counsel  to  them  all, 
and  asked  them,  if  they  felt  any  gratitude  to  me  for  the 
entertainment  that  I  had  given  them,  to  show  it  by  all 
going  quietly  home  immediately.  To  this  request  they 
replied  aye  by  acclamation,  and  they  kept  their  words. 
On  inquiring  next  day  of  the  police-officer  who  was 
present  with  us  on  the  occasion,  he  told  me  that  not 
one  of  them  had  caused  the  slightest  trouble  in  the 
ward  that  night,  and  that  he  believed  every  one  of 
them  had  gone  home  straight  to  bed  on  leaving  Noble's 
saloon. 

As  in  nature  nothing  is  all  good,  so  in  nature  noth- 
ing is  all  bad ;  and  if  one  will  only  take  the  trouble  he 


THE  BEGGARS'  BANQUET.  377 

can  find  out  something  good  even  among  the  profes- 
sional beggars  and  bummers  of  New  York.  Let  him 
follow  my  example,  by  way  of  a  trial,  and  treat  them 
to  a  Beggars'  Banquet. 

"A.  P." 


25 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,  SIR?" 

I  had  inscribed  my  name  on  the  register  of  the  Sun 
Hotel  at  Bethlehem,  one  of  those  very  uncomfortable 
monuments  of  the  simplicity  of  the  last  century  (the 
Sun  Hotel  was  built  a.  d.  1758),  and  was  fervently 
praying  that  the  stove  would  soon  radiate  a  little  of  its 
heat  into  my  thoroughly-chilled  body,  when  I  was 
startled  by  being  addressed  by  the  only  other  occupant 
of  the  room ;  the  clerk  having  gone  to  order  some  supper 
for  me,  of  which  I  stood  much  in  need,  after  my  long, 
cold  ride  in  the  cars.  I  had  thought  the  gentleman  to 
be  soundly  asleep,  as  he  was  loudly  snoring  in  a  bass 
key. 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ? "  remarked  "  the  sleeper 
awakened,"  in  an  interrogative  tone  of  voice. 

I  made  a  hasty  survey  of  my  personal  appearance, 
and,  seeing  nothing  of  the  miner  about  me,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  gentleman  was  talking  in  his  sleep. 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ? "  he  repeated. 

"  Sir  ? "  I  exclaimed,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis  on 
the  word,  which  was  intended  to  convey  to  him  that  I 
did  not  understand  the  purport  of  his  question. 


THE     ZINC-MINER. 
(From  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


"BEEN  TO  TIIE  MIXES,   SIR?"  379 

He  looked  at  me  and  I  looked  at  him.  He  was  a 
short,  stout,  pursy  little  man,  with  a  red  face,  and  an 
old-fashioned  black-satin  stock,  at  least  four  inches  too 
deep  for  his  apoplectically-shaped  throat — if  throat  it 
might  be  called,  for  it  was  more  like  a  thick  seam,  where 
his  head  and  shoulders  had  been  welded  together.  The 
color  on  his  face  deepened  till  it  almost  approached  a 
bright  purple  (I  was  half  afraid  that  he  was  going  to 
have  a  fit  on  the  spot),  as  he  again  repeated  his  inquiry, 
with  a  meaning  pause  between  each  word : 

"  I — asked — you — sir — if — you — have — been — to — 
the — mines  i  n 

"  To  what  mines  do  you  refer,  sir  ? n  I  inquired, 
rather  testily. 

"  Why  the  mines,  of  course,"  he  replied.  "  Ain't 
you  from  these  parts  ? " 

"  I  hail  from  New  York,"  I  told  him,  as  curtly  as  I 
could. 

"  Then  why  didnt  you  say  so  before  ? "  he  petu- 
lantly exclaimed ;  and,  turning  himself  round  in  his 
chair,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  straightway  proceeded  to 
resume  his  nap. 

"  Supper  ready,  sir,"  said  the  clerk,  putting  his  head 
in  at  the  door.     "  This  way,  sir." 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ? "  asked  the  clerk,  as  we 
ascended  the  flight  of  stairs  leading  to  the  dining-room. 

"  No  !  "  I  replied,  snappishly. 

I  took  my  seat  at  table.  A  bland-looking  young 
man,  with  washed-out  eyes  and  hair  and  an  incipient 


380  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

moustache  of  microscopical  dimensions,  sat  opposite  to 
me.  Scarcely  had  I  had  time  to  unfold  my  dinner- 
napkin,  when  he  stuttered  out : 

"  B-b-been  t-to  the  m-mi-ines,  sir  ? " 

I  would  have  killed  that  young  man  with  a  glance 
if  it  had  been  possible  to  do  so.  As  it  was,  I  fired 
off  "  No,  sir ! "  after  such  a  bombshell  fashion,  that 
he  blushed  crimson  and  immediately  began  to  study 
the  very  intricate  pattern  of  the  red-and-white  table- 
cover. 

I  ate  my  supper  in  high  dudgeon.  Those  cursed 
mines  almost  took  away  my  appetite.  I  felt  as  per- 
plexed as  the  countryman  when  he  saw,  for  the  first 
time,  the  bright  orange  and  purple-colored  oeufs  du 
Pdque  which  one  sees  in  the  German  grocery-stores  at 
Eastertide,  and  who  exclaimed,  as  he  scratched  his  head 
in  his  bewilderment : 

"  What  the  blazes  could  'a'  been  the  color  o'  them 
cocks  and  hens  ? " 

"  There  are  no  coal-mines  in  this  part  of  Pennsylva- 
nia," I  mentally  exclaimed  ;  "  why  the  deuce,  then,  does 
everybody  ask  me  if  I  have  l  been  to  the  mines  ? '  " 

Having  appeased  my  hunger,  I  returned  to  the  apart- 
ment which  did  duty  for  office  and  public  sitting-room, 
and,  lighting  a  cigar,  ensconced  myself,  newspaper  in 
hand,  in  an  arm-chair  before  the  fire. 

"  Mighty  cold,  sir,"  remarked  a  gentleman  who  sat 
near  me. 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  I  replied,  quickly,  feeling  deeply 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  381 

grateful  to  him  for  not  having  asked  me  if  I  had  "  been 
to  the  mines." 

"  Very  bad  traveling,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Very  bad  over  these  mountain-roads,"  I  replied. 

What  on  earth  possessed  me  to  talk  about  moun- 
tain-roads I  don't  know ;  I  had  not  traversed  any  since 
the  snow  fell.  The  words  were  fatal  to  me.  They  were 
hardly  out  of  my  mouth  before  I  saw  my  error.  I  read 
my  doom  in  my  neighbor's  eyes.  It  was  totally  unne- 
cessary for  him  to  pronounce  sentence  on  me.  But  he 
did  so.  Quick  as  lightning  came  the  hateful  words 
from  his  lips : 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ?  " 

My  heart  sank  within  me.  "  Is  Bethlehem  suffering 
from  an  epidemic  of  mines  on  the  brain?"  I  mentally 
exclaimed.  "  If  so,  I  will  clear  out  by  the  first  train  to- 
morrow morning  and  relinquish  the  business  which  has 
brought  me  to  the  place,"  was  my  immediately-formed 
resolution. 

"  I  have  not,  sir ! "  I  thundered  at  my  questioner, 
in  so  rude  a  way  that  he  almost  sprang  from  his  seat. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  stranger.  No  offense,  I  hope," 
he  meekly  remonstrated. 

Stung  almost  to  madness,  I  neither  accepted  nor 
declined  his  apology,  but  glared  furiously  at  him,  as 
though  I  would  eat  him  alive.  I  believe  he  thought  I 
was  an  escaped  lunatic,  for  he  nervously  edged  his  chair 
away  to  a  safe  distance,  and  then  began  to  whistle — I 
suppose,  by  way  of  keeping  his  courage  up.     As  my 


382  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

anger  cooled  down,  I  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  myself ; 
and,  as  a  peace-offering,  I  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to 
look  at  the  Times,  at  the  same  time  handing  it  to  him. 
He  had  seen  it,  and  therefore  politely  returned  it  to 
me.  He,  however,  ventured  on  some  general  remark, 
by  way  of  rejoinder,  and  we  soon  got  into  conversation 
on  the  topics  of  the  day.  The  evening  was  thus  fast 
wearing  away,  and  I  had  almost  forgotten  my  bete  noire, 
when  the  landlord  seated  himself  by  my  side  and  joined 
in  the  conversation.  Presently  there  came  a  lull — a 
dangerous  lull — in  the  conversation.  In  an  instant  the 
landlord  was  there ;  and,  like  some  gibing,  mocking 
fiend,  he  asked,  as  he  turned  to  me : 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ? " 

I  shivered  with  disgust,  and  then  trembled  with 
indignation.  After  a  painful  effort  I  succeeded  in  con- 
trolling myself. 

"  Say,  landlord,"  I  asked,  in  despairing  accents, 
"  what  time  does  the  sun  rise  in  these  parts  ? " 

"  About  half-past  seven,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"  Where  are  these  mines  ? "  I  rejoined,  doggedly. 

"  At  Friedensville." 

"  How  far  from  here  is  Friedensville  % " 

"  About  four  miles." 

"  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  have  a  sleigh  at  the  door 
for  me  at  sunrise  ! "  I  exclaimed  in  my  anguish.  "  I 
see  that  I  shall  have  no  peace  till  I  have  visited  these 
cursed  mines  ! — What  mines  are  they  % " 

"  Zinc ! "   replied  the  landlord,  astonished  into  la- 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  383 

conicism  by  the  contemptuous  tone  in  which  I  spoke 
of  Bethlehem's  pride. 

"  Zinc  ! "  I  mused ;  "  well,  I  have  never  been  in  a 
zinc-mine."  And  then,  fearful  that  if  I  remained  there 
any  longer  I  should  again  have  that  hateful  inquiry 
addressed  to  me,  I  gave  orders  that  I  should  be  called 
at  six  o'clock  and  requested  to  be  shown  to  my  room. 

What  a  night  I  passed  !  In  my  dreams  I  saw  imps 
of  darkness  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  bottom  of  the 
bed  and  heard  them  hiss  through  their  red-hot  teeth, 
as  they  glared  at  me  with  their  eyes  of  fire  : 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ? " 

At  one  time  I  was  buried  alive  in  a  zinc-mine ;  at 
another  I  was  being  boiled  in  a  caldron  of  seething 
zinc;  and,  again,  I  was  converted  into  zinc,  and  was 
being  rolled  out  into  sheets  of  zinc  for  house-tops.  It 
was  awful.  Every  now  and  then  I  awoke  with  a  start, 
and  shivered  till  the  bed  shook  as  I  fancied  I  saw  writ- 
ten in  letters  of  sulphurous  fire  on  the  walls  : 

"  Beware  of  the  mines  !  " 

Toward  morning  I  at  last  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and, 
when  I  got  up  in  answer  to  the  porter's  summons,  I  felt 
as  flat  and  stale  as  a  bottle  of  badly-corked  soda-water. 

After  partaking  of  a  hasty  breakfast,  I  jumped  into 
my  sleigh,  and  was  soon  on  my  way  to  what  in  the 
night  I  had  come  to  regard  as  "  the  place  of  the  damned  " 
— the  Lehigh  zinc-mines. 

"  Jack  Frost  is  ne'er  at  home  ;  for,  without  doubt, 
When  he  is  anywhere — he's  always  out." 


384:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Jack  Frost  was  out  with  a  vengeance  as  I  drove 
over  the  mountain  to  Friedensville ;  and,  by  the  time 
we  pulled  up  at  the  door  of  the  office  of  the  Lehigh 
Zinc  Company,  I  had  considerable  doubts  as  to  whether 
I  had  a  nose  to  blow,  and  whether  I  had  one  ear  or 
two  ears,  or  none.  I  might  have  dropped  them  on  the 
road  without  being  aware  of  it,  for  all  I  knew — I  might 
say,  cared  ;  for  I  was  utterly  reckless  from  the  amount 
of  desperation  which  had  accumulated  in  my  system 
with  all  the  insidiousness  which  physicians  tell  us  is 
characteristic  of  arsenic.  I  am  not  certain  that  I  would 
have  cared  much  whether  it  were  desperation  or  arsenic 
at  the  moment  that  I  turned  the  handle  of  that  office- 
door. 

But,  what  did  I  see  ?  A  cheery-looking,  jovial, 
bluff  and  hearty,  middle-aged  man,  smoking  his  Ha- 
vana in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  while  he  toasted 
his  feet  before  a  right  royal  good  fire. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? "  he  said,  rising  from  his 
chair  as  I  entered,  and  offering  first  his  hand  and  then 
a  vacant  chair.     "  Come  over  to  see  the  mines,  eh  % " 

Somehow  or  other  his  allusion  to  the  mines  did  not 
seem  to  jar  on  my  nerves  in  the  electric-shock  fashion 
which  had  nearly  driven  me  mad  at  the  hotel ;  and  his 
"  Take  a  fresh  cigar,  sir,"  and  the  soupgon  of  practical 
charity  which  he  very  feelingly  pressed  upon  me  in  a 
liquid  form,  soon  produced  a  general  reaction,  both 
mental  and  physical,  which  afterward  enabled  me  to 
perform  acrobatic  feats  worthy  of  Blondin  and  to  come 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  385 

out  of  those  fatal  mines  without  being  carried  out  on  a 
stretcher,  or  so  much  as  breaking  a  limb  or  dislocating 
one  of  my  stiffened  joints. 

That  man  was  my  good  Samaritan,  and  the  captain 
of  the  mines. 

The  recuperating  effects  of  the  cognac,  the  delicate 
fragrance  of  my  cigar,  the  warmth  of  the  cheerful, 
bright  fire,  and  a  chat  with  my  very  genial  new  ac- 
quaintance, thoroughly  restored  me  to  myself  in  the 
course  of  half  an  hour,  and  I  proposed  that  we  should 
start  on  our  tour  of  exploration. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but  we'll  have  to 
rig  you  out  before  going  into  the  mine.  It's  very  wet 
and  dirty,  and  you'll  ruin  your  clothes  if  you  go  as  you 
are.  We  keep  a  regular  wardrobe  here,  of  all  sorts  and 
sizes,  for  the  use  of  visitors." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  across  the  yard  to  a  sub- 
stantial building,  which  we  entered. 

"  Heavens  alive  !  Captain,  what's  this  %  "  I  ex- 
claimed, as  he  closed  the  door. 

"  Pumping-engine,"  he  replied  ;  "  far  the  largest  in 
the  world." 

I  stood  lost  in  awe  and  amazement  as  I  contem- 
plated that  mammoth  engine ;  the  captain  jerking  out 
the  following  commentary  on  its  wonderful  powers  : 

"  Engine,  three  thousand  horse-power — pumps  seven 
thousand  gallons  of  water  a  minute — can  pump  fifteen 
or  twenty  thousand — hundred  and  ten-inch  cylinder — 
ten-foot  stroke — weighs  seven  hundred  tons — cost  three 


386  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  —  pum ping-rods, 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long — will  be  three  hundred 
when  shaft  is  finished — mighty  big  thing  in  engines  !  " 

"  Mighty  big  "  was  no  adequately  descriptive  expres- 
sion for  such  gigantic  machinery.  I  doubt  if  Web- 
ster's dictionary  furnishes  adjectives  competent  to  give 
a  realistic  impression  of  its  size  and  enormous  ca- 
pacity. 

While  I  stood  lost  in  wonder,  and  watching  those 
ponderous  twenty-four-ton  walking-beams,  the  captain 
was  busy  selecting  a  suit  for  me  from  his  clothing-store. 
He  brought  down  one  or  two,  but  they  were  too  small, 
and  I  accompanied  him  up-stairs  to  pick  out  one  for 
myself.  He  pointed  out  the  wardrobe,  a  long  cup- 
board, in  which  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  suits  were 
hanging  from  pegs,  a  hat  over  each  suit.  It  looked 
more  like  a  morgue  property-room  than  any  thing  else : 
one  of  those  dismal  chambers  where  the  clothes  of  the 
unrecognized  unfortunates,  whose  last  resting-place  is 
the  potter's-field,  are  preserved  for  possible  future  iden- 
tification. I  gauged  one  suit  after  another  with  a  criti- 
cal eye,  without  coming  across  one  that  I  thought 
would  fit  me;  but  at  last  the  captain's  search  was 
crowned  with  success. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  exclaimed,  unhooking  a  suit 
from  its  peg ;  "  I  guess  this'll  do  you." 

"  Then,  smiling,  to  the  dame  quoth  he, 
1  Here's  one  will  fit  you  to  a  T.'  " 

He  had  selected  the  largest  suit  he  could  find,  and, 


"BEEN  TO   THE  MINES,   SIR?"  387 

doffing  my  overcoat,  I  proceeded  to  array  myself  in 
as  grotesque  and  unbecoming  a  costume  as  I  ever  put 
on  in  my  life.  Buttoning  up  my  jacket,  I  donned  a 
pair  of  unbleached  canvas  overalls,  which  came  up  well 
over  the  ribs,  then  a  jacket  of  the  same  material,  and  tied 
them  both  firmly  round  the  waist  with  a  piece  of  stout 
cord.  I  looked  like  a  diver,  minus  his  helmet.  A  soft 
felt  hat,  which  looked  as  though  it  had  done  good  ser- 
vice to  several  generations  of  bricklayers  or  lime-burn- 
ers, crowned  the  whole  and  completed  my  costume.  I 
was  ready  with  a  vengeance  for  mud  and  water  in  un- 
limited quantities — say  a?,  plus  infinity. 

"  Like  to  go  down  the  pumping-shaft  %  n  asked  the 
captain. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  want  to  see  every  thing,"  I  replied,  lit- 
tle knowing  what  I  was  undertaking. 

Providing  himself  with  a  small  oil-lamp,  such  as  are 
used  by  coal-miners,  and  attaching  it  to  his  hat,  the  caj> 
tain  led  the  way  to  a  small  aperture,  which  looked 
like  the  entrance  to  a  dark  cellar.  He  beo;an  to  de- 
scend  and  I  followed,  our  means  of  descent  being  a 
series  of  ordinary  ladders,  springing  from  small  landing- 
platforms  and  forming  a  very  steep  and  somewhat  dan- 
gerous staircase.  I  got  down  the  first  flight,  by  dint 
of  great  care,  with  tolerable  ease.  The  rungs  of  the 
ladder  were  in  crusted  with  ice  and,  in  addition  to  be- 
ing very  dangerous  footing,  soon  froze  all  the  blood  out 
of  my  fingers  ;  however,  the  light  from  the  opening  above 
was  sufficient  for  me  to  see  where  to  put  my  feet.    But, 


388  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

after  we  had  descended  two  or  three  flights,  we  were  in 
utter  darkness — darkness  that  might  be  almost  felt,  for 
the  captain's  lamp  shed  no  rays  for  more  than  a  foot  or 
two  around  his  head.  The  upper  atmosphere,  too,  had 
no  influence  over  the  temperature  at  that  depth  below 
the  surface,  and  the  rungs  of  the  ladder,  instead  6f  be- 
ing crusted  with  a  frozen  surface,  were  covered  with  a 
still  more  slippery  wet  slime.  The  situation  was  embar- 
rassing and  distressing.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  really 
going  "  down  among  the  dead  men  "  into  some  horrible 
subterranean  vault — perhaps  the  abode  of  the  cursed 
awaiting  the  final  judgment-day.  "  Groping  blindly  in 
the  darkness,"  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  holding 
on  to  the  ladder.  Coming  from  the  glare  of  the  bright 
sun  playing  on  the  expanse  of  snow  above,  my  eyes  re- 
fused to  accustom  themselves  to  the  darkness.  I  saw 
imaginary  shapes  and  forms,  platforms  where  there 
were  no  platforms — rungs  of  ladders  which  were  not. 
Two  or  three  times  I  clutched  at  a  rung,  as  I  thought, 
and  my  hand  closed  on  nothing,  thereby  nearly  causing 
me  to  lose  my  hold.  I  shuddered,  made  a  more  suc- 
cessful grab,  and  held  on  like  grim  death  for  a  few 
seconds  till  I  had  recovered  myself.  And  all  this 
while  there  was  the  unearthly  noise  of  the  plungers 
of  the  pumps  and  the  rush  of  water  overhead,  as  they 
discharged  their  eight  hundred  gallons  at  every  stroke, 
dinning  in  my  ears  till  they  sang  devil's  music,  as  from 
Satan's  private  full  band.  I  could  hear  the  grinding 
of  the  massive  pump-rods  as  they  went  up  and  down. 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  389 

I  could  hear  what  seemed  to  be  a  roaring,  seething  cat- 
aract  of  water  above  ine,  and  which  might  overwhelm 
me  in  its  flood  at  any  moment ;  but  I  could  see  abso- 
lutely nothing — no  more  than  if  I  had  been  born  blind. 
It  was  like  some  horrible  nightmare.  And  then,  sud- 
denly, without  a  moment's  warning,  I  was  dangling  on 
the  ladder,  with  the  sensation  that  my  arms  were  being 
torn  from  the  shoulder-sockets,  and  that  the  muscles  of 
my  shoulders  were  giving  way  under  the  sudden,  jarring 
strain  caused  by  the  whole  weight  of  my  falling  body  be- 
ing instantaneously  thrown  upon  their  sustaining  power. 
My  foot  had  slipped,  and,  had  I  not  had  a  pretty  firm 
hold  with  both  hands,  nothing  would  have  saved  the  tax- 
payers of  the  county  from  being  put  to  the  totally  un- 
necessary expense  of  a  coroner's  inquest.  I  hung  there 
for  at  least  two  or  three  seconds,  paralyzed  and  almost 
helpless  ;  but  the  natural  instinct  of  self-preservation 
at  last  led  me  to  put  out  my  foot  in  search  of  a  rung, 
and  I  stood  safe,  but  with  trembling  knees  and  palpi- 
tating heart,  once  more  on  the  treacherous  ladder.  For- 
tunately, it  was  the  last  one,  and  a  few  steps  brought 
me  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  a  depth  of  one  hundred 
and  seventy  feet. 

The  captain  lit  a  couple  of  candles,  and  I  began  to 
look  about.  We  were  in  a  perpendicular  tunnel,  as  it 
were,  some  thirty  or  forty  feet  square,  boarded  round 
with  planking  a  foot  thick.  Every  thing  was,  of  course, 
dripping  wet.  And  there  were  the  gigantic  pumps, 
working  up  and  down  with  elphantine  solemnity  and 


390  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

draining  the  bowels  of  the  earth  with  a  coolness  wor- 
thy of  a  pig-sticker  in  a  Chicago  pork-packing  estab- 
lishment. The  enormous  pumping-rods,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  long,  surprised  me  most,  I  think.  They 
were  each  formed  of  twelve  solid  trunks  of  timber, 
each  trunk  one  foot  square,  and  the  whole  bound  to- 
gether with  enormous  bands  of  iron.  Night  and  day, 
Sunday  and  work-a-day,  these  mammoth  pumps  are  al- 
ways going.  Ten  million  gallons  of  water  a  day  are 
discharged  by  them  into  the  adjacent  creek ;  a  loss  of 
water  about  which,  I  should  think,  the  neighboring 
farmers  might  have  something  to  say.  But  the  mines 
would  soon  be  flooded  if  the  pumping  were  even  less- 
ened for  a  few  days. 

The  ascent  to  the  surface  I  found  very  much  easier 
than  the  descent ;  and,  though  I  shall  retain  an  intense 
admiration  and  respect  for  those  wonderful  pumps  for 
the  remainder  of  my  life,  I  trust  it  may  never  fall  to  my 
lot  to  see  them  again.  I  could  have  almost  kissed  the 
ground  on  which  I  stood  when  I  found  myself  once 
more,  and  safe  and  sound  too,  on  terra  firma.  Not  once 
did  I  look  back  at  the  tomb-like  entrance  to  that  pump- 
ing-shaft  as  we  strode  away  to  the  mouth  of  the  mine ; 
not  that  I  was  afraid  of  being  converted,  like  Lot's  wife, 
into  a  pillar  of  salt,  or  into  a  pump-rod,  or  a  plunger,  or 
some  other  devilish  invention  of  pumping  genius,  but 
simply  because  my  painful  experiences  were  too  recent, 
as  yet,  to  allow  of  retrospection. 

Two  or  three  minutes'  walk  brought  us  to  the  brink 


"BEEN  TO   THE   MINES,   SIR?"  391 

of  the  Big  Mine,  as  it  is  called,  the  largest  of  the 
several  mines  which  the  Lehigh  Zinc  Company  own. 
Seldom  have  I  seen  any  thing  more  carious,  more  thor- 
oughly unique  in  its  way.  The  mine  lies  on  the  last 
shelf  of  the  mountain-side — one  of  those  geological  up- 
heavals which  have  brought  about  such  a  bitter  antag- 
onism between  science  and  religion.  The  original  for- 
mation  has  been  turned  up  on  end,  the  giant  limestone- 
rocks,  between  which  the  veins  of  zinc  run,  and  in  the 
crevices  of  which  zinc-ore  is  plentifully  "  pocketed,"  hav- 
ing a  perpendicular  instead  of  an  horizontal  position. 
Zinc  having  been  found  on  or  immediately  below  the 
surface,  every  thing  but  the  limestone-rocks  has  been 
removed.  And  there,  grim  and  gaunt,  they  stand,  like 
so  many  huge  pinnacles  and  towers,  giving  one  the  im- 
pression that  they  are  the  ruins  of  some  ancient  city, 
which  has  sunk  down  some  hundred  and  fifty  or  two 
hundred  feet  in  an  earthquake,  leaving  the  tops  of  the 
towers  and  church-spires  just  level  with  the  surface. 
Thirty  years'  working  of  this  mine  have  transformed  a 
picturesquely-wooded  mountain-side  into  what  might 
pass  for  a  bleak,  desolate,  and  very  dirty  glacier. 

Into  this  cluster  of  giant,  bared  rocks  we  struck, 
and  began  to  descend  a  series  of  ladders  similar  to 
those  in  the  pumping-shaft.  But  there  was  this  advan- 
tage :  any  amount  of  daylight  guided  us  in  our  descent 
as  we  went  down  from  platform  to  platform  or  trav- 
ersed broad  chasms,  the  only  bridge  being  a  plank  which 
almost  made  me  feel  sea-sick  with  its  springing  move- 


392  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

inent  as  we  crossed  it.  There  is  no  ethereal  mildness 
about  the  spring  of  these  planks.  If  you  are  not  care- 
ful, they'll  spring  you  off  into  the  rocky  abyss  below. 
Nor  is  an  eleven-inch  board  so  desirable  a  venue  for  a 
promenade  as  a  good  ten-foot  sidewalk.  But  we  got 
safely  down  to  the  working-parts  of  the  mine  without 
incident  or  accident ;  and,  providing  ourselves  with  a 
couple  of  tallow-candles,  we  started  into  the  nearest 
gangway,  through  alternate  pools  of  water  and  holes 
full  of  mud  and  slush,  utterly  regardless  of  the  hum 
dred-and-one  shower-baths  which  poured  ruthlessly 
down  upon  us  from  the  rocks  above. 

My  friendly  captain  at  once  began  to  explain  the 
geological  mysteries  of  sulphurate,  carbonate,  and  sili- 
cate of  zinc,  I  listening  in  solemn  silence.  The  last  two 
have  a  strong  resemblance  to  Stilton  cheese,  when  it 
has  arrived  at  the  epicure's  standard  of  gastronomic 
excellence — dirty  white,  with  brick-dust  colored  and 
red  veins  running  through  it.  Metal  of  any  sort  is  the 
last  thing  I  should  have  expected  to  form  one  of  its 
component  parts.  But  it  "  is  rich,  devilish  rich ; "  at 
least,  so  I  was  assured.  The  sulphurate  of  zinc,  or 
"  blend,"  as  it  is  technically  termed  by  the  miners,  on 
the  contrary,  looks  to  be  all  pure  metal.  The  particles 
of  zinc  in  it  shone  and  sparkled  like  diamonds,  shed- 
ding a  lustre  which  fairly  put  our  humble  tallow-candles 
to  shame.     I  think  it  was  Samuel  Butler  who  wrote — 

"As  little  sparkles  shine  more  bright 
Than  glowing  coals  that  give  them  light." 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  303 

So  it  is  with  blend,  of  which  I  should  like  to  have  a 
few  thousand  tons  lying  at  some  handy  wharf,  "  subject 
to  order,"  as  commercial  men  say. 

I  was  just  indulging  in  the  contemplation  of  this 
very  pleasing  little  air-castle,  when  we  suddenly 
emerged  once  more  into  the  light  of  day.  Walking 
out  to  the  extreme  end  of  another  of  those  disagreeably 
elastic  planks,  the  captain  pointed  to  the  mass  of  rock 
under  which  we  had  just  passed  and  called  my  atten- 
tion to  it. 

"  That  rock,"  said  he,  "  fell  in  from  above.  You  see 
it  is  supported  by  shoring  timbers.  It  weighs  about 
four  thousand  tons." 

The  malicious  pleasure  with  which  he  gave  me  this 
horrifying  information  was  depicted  in  every  line  in  his 
face ;  and,  noticing  my  look  of  dismay,  he  added,  with 
a  diabolical  chuckle  : 

"  It'll  fall  again  some  day  !  " 

I  started,  recovered  myself,  frowned  on  him,  and 
said  nothing.  My  revenge  was  confined  to  the  pious 
wish  that  he  may  be  below  it  when  it  does  fall.  It  is 
awful  to  think  how  recklessly  these  mining-men  disre- 
gard danger  and  ignore  the  value  of  human  life.  Why, 
if  that  rock  had  happened  to  fall  while  I  was  passing 
under  it,  my  children  would  have  been  fatherless  and 
my  wife  a  widow  before  I  should  have  had  time  to 
awake  to  the  fact  that  I  was  in  another  world. 

11  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread." 
26 


394  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Again  I  performed  that  spring-board  trick,  and  in  a 
way,  too,  that  would  have  brought  me  unlimited  ap- 
plause from  the  village  patrons  of  a  traveling  circus. 
On  we  dived,  through  a  chink  here  and  a  cranny  there, 
till  I  began  to  be  fearful  lest  we  should  be  lost  in  a 
maze  of  windings  and  turnings  and  find  ourselves  at 
last  warming  our  hands  and  drying  our  clothes  before 
the  interior  fires  of  the  earth,  of  which  Humboldt  tells 
us  in  the  "  Cosmos."  Presently  we  came  to  the  end  of 
what  one  might  call  a  "  blind  alley,"  as  the  police  of  the 
Five  Points  precinct  designate  an  alley  which  is  walled 
up  at  the  end. 

"  It's  pretty  rough  beyond  here,"  remarked  the  cap- 
tain.    "  I'll  show  the  way  if  you've  a  mind  to  follow." 

"  Well,  but  I  don't  see  where  we  are  to  go  to  unless 
we  turn  back,"  I  argued. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  the  captain,  as  he  raised  his  can- 
die  above  his  head  ;  "  don't  you  see  that  hole  ?  We 
can  crawl  through  that,  and  get  into  the  workings  over 
there,  and  see  the  old  pumping  arrangements." 

I  did  see  the  hole.  It  very  much  resembled  a  chim- 
ney-stack which  had  been  blown  down  in  a  gale  of  wind 
without  breaking  up. 

u  Can  we  get  through  there  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  can,"  replied  the  captain. 

"  Go  ahead,  sir ;  I'll  follow  where  you  lead,"  I  ex- 
claimed, assuming  all  the  air  of  an  old  soldier  respond- 
ing to  the  call  of  the  leader  of  a  forlorn  hope. 

The  captain  began  to  climb ;    and,  when  he  had 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MINES,   SIR?"  395 

raised  himself  about  six  or  seven  feet  from  the  ground, 
gradually  disappeared.  How  I  longed  that  he  might 
stick  fast  in  that  hole  !  It  would  have  been  such  a 
sweet  revenge  on  him  to  have  to  pull  him  out  by  his 
boots  !  But  "  Come  on  !  "  reached  my  ears  like  the 
sound  from  a  muffled  drum,  and,  with  a  courage  born 
of  desperation,  I  clambered  up  the  rock  into  that  hole. 
It  just  fitted  me.  On  I  crawled,  rasping  myself  against 
the  rock,  scratching  my  hands  and  breaking  my  finger- 
nails, and  winding  up  by  nearly  swallowing  my  candle 
and  altogether  putting  it  out.  I  was  in  as  desperate  a 
plight  as  Jonah  must  have  found  himself  when  he  was 
inside  the  whale's  belly. 

"  Come  on !  "  I  heard  the  captain  shout.  He  had 
got  to  the  end  of  our  gas-pipe  journey. 

Come  on  !  Yes.  But  how  ?  I  was  forcing  myself 
slowly  through,  an  inch  at  every  struggle,  and  the  pas- 
sage seemed  to  fit  tighter  every  moment.  I  heard  the 
captain's  heavy  tread  splashing  through  the  water  as  he 
continued  his  way. 

"  Good  Heaven  !  "  I  exclaimed,  as  I  recalled  the 
warning  of  my  previous  night's  dream — "Beware  of 
the  mines  !  " — "  that  man  has  trapped  me  here  to  my 
doom.  He  is  going  to  leave  me  to  perish — to  be  buried 
alive  !  " 

Despair  gave  unnatural  power  to  my  elbows,  knees, 
and  toes.  I  gave  a  few  terrific  wrenches,  "  all  together," 
as  the  boating-men  say,  and  the  next  moment  I  was — 
nowhere. 


396  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

"  Why,  how  did  you  manage  that  ?  "  asked  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  helped  me  to  my  feet  and  wiped  some  of 
the  slushy  mud  from  my  face  with  his  pocket-handker- 
chief. 

"  How,  sir ! n  I  exclaimed,  indignantly.  "  You  told 
me  to  climb  up  to  that  infernal  hole ;  but  you  didn't  tell 
me  that  it  suddenly  came  to  an  end — and  with  a  five- 
feet  drop,  too ! " 

He  offered  a  thousand  apologies ;  said  he'd  have 
given  a  thousand  dollars  rather  than  have  had  such  a 
thing  occur.  I  got  rid  of  as  much  of  the  mud  out  of 
my  eyes,  nose,  mouth,  and  ears,  as  I  could,  and  we  start- 
ed again,  the  captain  in  the  most  sorrowful  and  I  in 
the  surliest  of  moods.  We  traversed  a  long,  low  gang- 
way, so  low  that  we  had  to  bend  our  backs  consider- 
ably, reached  the  spot  where  the  miners  were  at  work, 
and  finally  came  to  the  old  pumping  apparatus.  But  I 
had  lost  all  heart  for  mine-exploring,  and  the  captain's 
explanations  of  the  pumps  might  as  well  have  been 
made  to  a  deaf  man  as  to  me.  He  saw  this  and  sug- 
gested our  return. 

"  Return ! "  I  cried.  "  Have  we  got  to  go  back 
through  that  hole  again  ?  " 

"  There's  no  other  way  ? "  came  like  a  death-knell  on 
my  ear. 

With  the  fortitude  of  one  of  the  early  Christian 
martyrs,  I  followed  the  captain  back  to  that  devil's  pas- 
sage, much  as  a  man  would  follow  his  jailer  from  his 
prison-cell  to  the  foot  of  the  gallows.      How  I  got 


"BEEN  TO  THE  MIXES,   SIR?"  397 

through  it  again,  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  that  I 
got  through,  for  I  am  here  to  tell  the  tale.  But  how  I 
did  chuckle  to  myself  when  I  found  that  the  captain 
had  burned  his  cheek  with  his  candle  during  his  pas- 
sage !  It  quite  put  me  in  spirits  again.  Yes,  there  it 
was,  a  bright,  burning-red  spot,  when  we  got  back  to 
the  daylight  again  ;  and,  as  we  wended  our  way  up  the 
ladders,  I  was  so  elated  over  his  mishap  that  I  actually 
chaffed  him  about  not  knowing  how  to  get  about  his 
own  mines  without  spoiling  his  beauty. 

We  had  a  hearty  laugh  over  our  jaunt  as  we  played 
ducks  and  drakes  with  a  couple  of  pails  of  warm  water 
on  our  return  to  the  engine-house. 

"  Why,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  "  there  ain't  one 
visitor  in  a  hundred  that  comes  here  who  will  go  down 
in  that  pumping-shaft ;  and  not  one  in  a  thousand  who 
would  squeeze  through  that  hole." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  I  quietly  remarked,  as  I  shud- 
dered at  the  reminiscence. 

Another  soupgon  of  the  cognac,  another  cigar,  and 
a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  and  good-by,  started  me  on 
my  way  back  to  Bethlehem  rejoicing;  and,  forty-five 
minutes  afterward,  I  walked  into  the  Sun  Hotel. 

My  friendly  reader,  the  first  words  that  greeted  me, 
as  I  strode  up  to  the  stove,  before  which  two  or  three 
gentlemen  were  seated,  were  : 

"  Been  to  the  mines,  sir  ?  " 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  I  have,  sir  !  "  I  almost  shrieked 
in  the  most  spiteful  tone  I  could  command ;  "  and  I  am 


398  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

off  to  New  York  by  the  first  train  to-morrow  morning, 
sir..  And  if  ever  I  put  foot  in  Bethlehem  again,  sir, 
you  may  write  me  down  an  ass,  sir ;  for  I'll  never  again, 
in  such  a  case,  sign  myself 

<A.  P.'" 


THE  PEEP-SHOW  MAN. 

I  was  hurrying  from  the  Brooklyn  ferry  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  City  Hall,  the  other  day,  when  I  almost  ran 
into  the  arms  of  a  guardian  of  the  law  who  had  often 
given  me  his  willing  assistance  when  I  had  been  plan- 
ning and  arranging  one  of  my  very  impertinent,  but,  I 
hope,  pertinent  investigations  as  to  how  the  world — 
our  world— makes  a  living. 

"  Why,  how  d'you  do,  sir  \ "  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
cheeriness  which  was  quite  encouraging,  considering 
that  I  had  been  wading  through  slush  and  mud  and  any 
thing  but  blessing  the  drizzling  rain  all  the  morning. 

a  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you,"  he  added.  "  I  went 
to  the  office  the  other  day  ;  but  they  told  me  you  was 
out  of  town — been  away  for  some  weeks," 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  inquired,  knowing  well  that  there 
must  be  something  in  the  wind. 

"  Why,  it's  jest  this,"  replied  my  blue-coated  friend : 
"  There's  been  two  chaps  from  Can«dy  around  lately, 
with  one  o'  them  peep-shows,  and  I  somehow  thought 
— if  you  could  get  a  hold  of  'em — as  you  might  make 
one  o'  them  stories  of  yours.  One  of  'em  's  a  reg'lar 
cur'us  cuss — quite  a  character." 

"  Ah ! "  I  exclaimed,  pricking  up  my  ears,  like  an 


400  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

old  charger  at  the  sound  of  the  bugle-call ;  "  that  bids 
fair-  for  an  idea.  Where  do  these  fellows  hang  out  ? 
Let  us  go  for  them  at  once." 

"  Can't  to-day,"  said  the  officer ;  "  I'm  on  post. 
Come  down  to  the  station-house  at  a  quarter-past  one 
to-morrow.  I'll  find  out  where  they  live,  to-night,  and 
make  an  appointment  with  'em  to  meet  to-morrow  after- 
noon. I  tell  you  that's  a  right  smart  chap,  one  of  'em. 
He's  Irish  and  Canady,  too ;  but  he's  cussed  smart  and 
queer." 

"  A  quarter-past  one  to-morrow,  then,"  I  rejoined. 

And,  knowing  that  officers  are  only  apt  to  get  into 
trouble  if  seen  in  conversation  when  on  post,  I  hurried 
away. 

On  the  following  day  I  wended  my  way  down  to 
the  Station-house  at  the  time  agreed  upon  and  found 
that  the  officer's  inquiries  had  resulted  satisfactorily. 
So  much  so  that  we  were  soon  on  our  way  to  Baxter 
Street  (who  does  not  know  Baxter  Street  ?),  and,  turn- 
ing down  that  thoroughfare  of  mixed  nationalities,  we 
came  on  the  Peep-Show  and  its  two  proprietors.  The 
officer  at  once  introduced  me  to  the  "  boss  " — one  Galla- 
gher by  name — who,  in  turn,  introduced  me  to  his  jun- 
ior partner — Mr.  Timothy  Grael.  Both  gentlemen  eyed 
me  with  considerable  curiosity,  if  not  suspicion ;  Mr. 
Grael  biting  viciously  at  a  straw  as  he,  evidently,  took  a 
mental  inventory  of  me.  Mr.  Gallagher  inquired  very 
tenderly  as  to  the  state  of  my  health,  said  he  was  un- 
der the  weather  himself,  having  "  only  just  come  down 


THE   PEEP-SHOW  MAN.  401 

from  Canady,"  where,  he  added,  they  had  both  left  their 


"  missusses." 


He  told  me  that  they  always  wintered  in  Montreal 
and  "  trampsed  the  States "  in  the  snmmer-time,  and 
he  assured  me  that  one  afternoon  in  an  American  vil- 
lage, or  in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  or  Chicago,  was 
"  worth  a  week  in  Canady,  or  England,  or  Australy." 

From  his  own  statements,  Mr.  Gallagher  appears  to 
have  been  in  every  civilized  country  in  the  world,  al- 
ways changing  the  pictures  in  his  peep-show  to  suit  the 
proclivities  of  the  natives  of  the  land  in  which  he  might 
happen  to  be  traveling.  He  assured  me  that  his  stock 
of  pictures  "  would  make  a  perfect  art-gallery,"  an  asser- 
tion which  Mr.  Timothy  Grael  backed  up  by  exclaiming, 
"  I  should  think  so,  by  God  ! "  and  by  offering  to  ex- 
hibit them  to  me  any  time  I  might  be  at  leisure.  His 
offer  drew  down  on  him  a  swift  rebuke  from  his  partner 
for  what  he  evidently  thought  was  an  exhibition  of  un- 
due confidence  in  me,  and  Mr.  Grael  "  cheesed  it,"  as  re- 
quested. 

Mr.  Gallagher,  however,  graciously  condescended  to 
allow  me  to  examine  the  peep-show.  It  was  something 
like  a  barrel-organ  in  shape,  and  was  drawn  about  on  a 
small  four-wheeled  truck.  There  were  eight  openings 
throiigh  which  to  peep ;  the  exhibition  at  the  time  con- 
sisting of  the  following  pictures  : 

"  The  three  great  Presidents  of  the  United  States — 
Washington,  Lincoln,  and  Grant,"  in  a  group  ;  "  The 
Battle  of  Gettysburg,"  "The  Capitol  at  Washington," 


4:02  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

" Sheridan's  Bide,"  "The  Falls  of  Niagara,"  " The  Hud- 
son  River  by  Moonlight,"  the  "  Central  Park,"  and 
"  New-York  Bay." 

This  was  a  collection  of  beauties  which  Mr.  Galla- 
gher thought  it  was  "  worth  walking  ten  miles  to  see," 
though  I  must  confess  they  did  not  come  up  to  my 
ideas  of  "  high  art." 

I  informed  Mr.  Gallagher  that  I  was  anxious  to  hire 
his  peep-show  for  the  afternoon  and  offered  to  place 
any  deposit,  in  moderation,  in  the  hands  of  the  officer  as 
security  for  its  safe  return.  But  he  absolutely  refused  to 
listen  to  u  the  voice  of  the  charmer  "  or  to  loan  me  the 
peep-show  on  any  terms  whatever.  He,  however,  said 
that  if  I  would  wait  till  he  had  been  to  call  on  a  friend 
up  the  street  he  would  graciously  allow  me  to  accom- 
pany him  in  his  afternoon  peregrinations.  As  he  would 
not  accept  my  terms,  I  was  forced  to  accept  his,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  Mr.  Grael  and  I  should  remain  in  charge 
of  the  peep-show  while  Mr.  Gallagher  went  to  make  his 
five  minutes'  call. 

Mr.  Gallagher  was  evidently  one  of  those  dilatory 
individuals  who  mean  half  an  hour  when  they  say  live 
minutes.  Mr.  Timothy  Grael  and  I,  however,  remained 
stanch  at  our  post  by  the  side  of  the  peep-show;  and  I 
confess  I  was  much  interested  in  studying  my  fellow- 
watchman's  way  of  passing  the  time.  After  having  ex- 
hausted, apparently,  every  form  of  mental  occupation 
within  his  compass,  such  as  ogling  the  young  women 
in  the  neighboring  attic-windows,  coughing  at  stout, 


THE  PEEP-SHOW  MAN.  403 

elderly  females,  with  bundles  under  their  arms,  and 
looking  supremely  innocent  as  they  managed  slowly  to 
revolve  on  their  axes  and  look  back,  inscribing  his 
name  in  the  largest  and  most  oddly-shaped  capital  let- 
ters on  a  newly-painted  door-way  —  an  effort  of  art 
which  took  him  at  least  fifteen  minutes  and  much  suck- 
ing of  the  point  of  his  little  bit  of  pencil  to  accomplish 
— Mr.  Timothy  Grael  let  himself  out  on  an  Italian  or- 
gan-grinder, of  whom  he  sarcastically  inquired  : 

"  How  much  do  yer  charge  for  playin'  all  them 
toones  at  oust,"  and  "  Hope  that  ain't  the  orgin  yer 
plays  o'  Sundays  ? " 

Not  succeeding  in  drawing  out  the  organ-grinder, 
who  probably  did  not  understand  English,  Mr.  Grael 
suddenly  bethought  himself  of  the  unspeakable  enjoy- 
ments of  his  childhood  and  invested  in  two  cents'  worth 
of  pea-nuts,  which  he  proceeded  to  crack  and  eat  in 
leisurely  but  artistic  style.  The  pea-nuts,  however,  dis- 
appeared without  any  signs  of  Gallagher's  reappear- 
ance, and  Mr.  Grael  was  under  the  necessity  of  a  second 
and  even  a  third  investment  in  those  very  indigestible 
but  popular  edibles. 

While  he  was  thus  busy  in  trying  to  kill  time,  a  fine 
specimen  of  the  genus  policeman,  who  had  passed  us 
two  or  three  times  as  he  paraded  his  beat  (which 
seemed  a  very  short  one)  and  had  twice  eyed  us  sus- 
piciously in  consequence  of  some  of  the  pea-nut  shells 
dropping  in  his  rear,  walked  straight  across  the  street 
to  where  we  stood,  and  sharply  demanded : 


404  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? M 

"  Why,  how  are  you,  cap  ?  I  hope  I  see  you  well," 
replied  Mr.  Grael,  not  in  the  least  abashed. 

"  Come,  now,  young  man,  no  nonsense,"  rejoined  the 
officer,  in  a  surly  tone.  "  That's  no  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion." 

"  What  was  yer  pleased  to  obsarve,  thin  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Grael,  in  a  bantering  way. 

"  I  asked  you  what  you're  doing  down  here,"  reiter- 
ated the  officer  with  all  the  dignity  and  serenity  of  man- 
ner he  could  assume. 

"  Well,  if  yer  must  know,  I'm  down  here  to  buy  a 
moole.  If  you're  for  sale  cheap,  you'll  do  a'most  as 
well  as  any  other  jackass.  You'll  have  lots  o1  hay — 
oats  o'  Sunday — an'  not  too  much  of  the  stick,"  replied 
the  imperturbable  Grael,  amid  the  laughter  of  the  crowd 
of  by-standers  who  always  assemble  in  a  moment  when 
they  hear  a  discussion  between  a  citizen  and  an  officer. 

"  Hulloah,  cop !  yer  bought  that,"  exclaimed  a  hat- 
less  and  shoeless  urchin. 

"  If  you  don't  answer  my  question,  I'll  take  you  in," 
said  the  now  angry  officer. 

Mr.  Grael  apparently  began  to  consider.  He  prob- 
ably thought  of  the  "  boss,"  of  me,  of  the  peep-show, 
and,  maybe,  of  himself.  At  all  events,  he  thought 
discretion  the  better  part  of  valor,  for  he  at  once 
showed  the  white  feather. 

"  Well,  reely,  now,"  he  said,  in  a  bantering  tone, 
"  as  I'm  not  in  a  persishin  to  accept  your  invite  to  pass 


THE   PEEP-SHOW   MAX.  405 

the  arternoon  with  yer : — I'm  a  waitin'  for  the  boss, 
who's  in  akin'  a  call  up  the  alley,  an  if  you'll  jist  step 
up  to  number  seven,  an'  say  as  he's  been  gone  a  preshis 
long  time,  I'll  thank  yer." 

"  Endade,  an'  that's  thrue,  Misther  Peleeceman," 
broke  in  a  ruin-soddened-looking  Irish  woman  ;  "  fur 
didn't  I  sthan'  here  and  heere  his  boss  till  him,  wid  my 
wery  own  ears,  to  sthop  here  till  he  come  back  ?  En- 
dade I  did." 

"  An'  so  did  I,"  came  from  a  chorus  of  a  dozen  voices. 
"  It's  all  right,  officer,"  I  put  in,  meekly. 
The  testimony  was  apparently  too  strong  for  the 
officer,  for  he  at  once  strode  away  without  saying  an- 
other word. 

For  two  or  three  minutes  the  crowd  stood  stolidly 
gazing  at  Mr.  Grael,  a  few  loudly  expressing  their  sym- 
pathy with  him  and  their  hatred  of  "  cops  "  in  general 
and  this  one  in  particular.  They,  however,  gradually 
melted  away,  leaving  him  to  finish  his  peanuts  in  peace. 
But  the  showman  was  evidently  growing  impatient 
at  the  protracted  absence  of  his  "  boss,"  for  his  third 
investment  was  rapidly  running  out.  As  he  stood 
cracking  his  last  nut,  he  suddenly  looked  up  from  the 
heap  of  shells  which  lay  at  his  feet  and,  addressing 
two  small  boys,  who  had  been  for  some  minutes  staring 
at  him  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open,  said : 

"Now,  then,  my  young  poppy-coppies,  one  good 
turn  deserves  another.  You've  had  a  half-hour's  lessin 
in  the  art  of  crackin'   an'   eatin'  peanuts,  an'  you've 


106    .  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

nothin'  to  pay.  S'pose  yer  jist  go  an  inquire  the  time 
o'  day  for  me.  An'  take  a  little  exercise  over  it,  will 
yer  ?  It'll  give  yer  an  appetite  for  yer  dinner  the  next 
time  yer  gits  one.  Now,  then,"  he  continued,  seeing 
that  the  boys  did  not  stir,  "  I  ain't  a  young  'ooman,  nor 
a  white  illiphant,  neither.  What  d'yer  stan'  a  starin' 
like  that  for  ?  Come,  off  with  yer !  I'll  give  yer  a 
cint's  worth  o'  peanuts  if  yer  make  haste,  when  yer 
comes  back." 

The  boys  immediately  started  off  on  a  run  for  the 
nearest  rum-saloon  (only  a  few  doors  off)  to  inquire 
the  time.  I  consulted  my  watch  and  told  Mr.  Grael 
that  it  was  just  three  o'clock. 

"  Three  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grael.  "  Why,  blow  me  tight 
if  the  boss  ain't  been  gone  nigh  on  to  half  an  hour. 
An'  here  have  I  been  a  convertin'  myself  into  a  stuffed 
squerrel ;  an'  like  as  not  they've  got  him  nicely  buried 
in  the  back-yard,  or  stowed  away  in  a  cellar,  or  an  ash- 
barrel,  or  somethin',  an'  all  washed  up  an'  tidy  agin  by 
this  time." 

The  eyes  and  mouths  of  the  two  boys,  who  had  re- 
tured  to  claim  their  promised  nuts  in  time  to  hear  this 
awful  possibility  propounded,  expanded  to  an  extent 
which  might  have  seriously  alarmed  their  mothers,  if 
they  had  any.  They  listened,  with  horror-stricken 
looks,  to  Mr.  Grael's  awful  self-reproaches,  and  seemed 
to  think  that  murder  had  really  been  already  commit- 
ted, and,  what  was  of  greater  importance  to  them,  in 
their  own  alley,  too. 


THE   PEEP-SIIOW   MAX.  407 

"  Now,  then,  can't  yer  sliet  tliem  mouths  o'  yourn  ? " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Grael,  angrily.  "  There  won't  he  a 
blessed  fly  left  in  these  parts  soon,  if  yer  don't." 

And  then,  giving  both  of  the  boys  a  cuff  on  the 
head  instead  of  their  promised  peanuts,  he  darted  up 
the  alley  in  search  of  the  "  boss." 

Somewhat  to  my  surprise,  Mr.  Grael  reappeared  al- 
most immediately — not  bringing  Mr.  Gallagher  with 
him,  for  that  worthy  appeared  to  be  only  in  too  great 
a  hurry  to  come,  inasmuch  as  he  gesticulated  furiously 
as  they  came  down  the  alley  together  and  loudly  re- 
monstrated with  Mr.  Grael  on  the  extremity  of  his  folly 
in  leaving  me  alone  with  the  show.  He,  however, 
quickly  subsided  on  seeing  that  I  had  not  levanted 
with  his  property,  and  hurriedly  apologized  for  detain- 
ing me  so  long,  giving  as  an  excuse  that  his  business 
had  kept  him  longer  than  he  expected.  To  judge  from 
the  odor  of  bad  gin  which  exhaled  from  Mr.  Galla- 
gher, I  should  say  that  his  business  must  have  been  in 
the  sampling  line.  He  at  once  ordered  his  partner  to 
"  collar  the  truck,"  and  we  made  our  way  to  Chatham 
Square,  where  a  suitable  position  was  taken  up,  the  oil- 
cloth cover  which  concealed  the  peep-holes  was  thrown 
over  the  top  of  the  case,  and  the  exhibition  was  open 
to  the  public,  at  charges  varying  from  one  to  live  cents, 
according  to  the  amount  of  peeping  they  wanted  to  do. 

A  crowd  of  ragged  little  children  quickly  collected, 
but  they  soon  dispersed,  or  rather  took  up  a  position 
at  a  more  respectful  distance,  at  the  bidding  of  a  small 


408  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

switch  which  Mr.  Gallagher  carried  in  his  hand.  But 
more  profitable  patrons  were  at  hand,  in  the  shape 
of  two  young  women,  apparently  servant-girls  out 
for  a  day's  holiday.  They  determined  to  go  in  for  the 
whole  show  and  put  up  their  ten  cents  as  readily  as 
though  they  had  one  hundred  dollars  in  their  pockets. 
After  much  giggling  and  repeated  instructions  as  to 
how  they  were  to  accommodate  their  eyes  to  the  peep- 
holes, they  began  the  inspection,  everywhile  exclaim- 
ing, "  My  !  ain't  that  pretty  !  "  "  "  Ain't  that  real  love- 
ly  !  "  etc.  One  of  the  girls,  however,  was  disappointed 
with  Sheridan's  Kide,  which,  to  my  profound  astonish- 
ment, she  said  she  "  seen."  On  inquiry,  however,  it 
turned  out  that  she  had  seen  a  rider  in  a  country  cir- 
cus enact  the  part. 

Soon  after  the  girls  had  taken  their  departure,  a 
grandmotherly-looking  old  lady,  accompanied  by  two 
little  girls  and  a  small  boy,  came  along.  Mr.  Gal- 
lagher at  once  requested  the  old  lady's  attention  to 
the  show  and,  in  a  grave  tone  of  voice,  told  her  that 
she  would  commit  a  sin,  which  she  would  regret  for 
the  remainder  of  her  days,  if  she  passed  on  without 
allowing  the  children  to  have  a  peep.  The  poor 
woman  was  so  taken  aback  at  this  terrifying  announce- 
ment that  she  at  once  inquired  what  the  charge  was, 
and,  after  much  bargaining,  it  was  agreed  that  the 
three  children  should  see  half  the  show  for  five  cents. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Mr.  Gallagher,  in  consequence 
of  this  reduction  of  his  terms,  "  put  them  through  "  so 


THE   PEEP-SHOW   MAN.  400 

rapidly  that  the  children  had  barely  a  glance  at  each 
picture. 

He  was,  perhaps,  influenced  in  this  course  of  action 
by  the  arrival  of  several  school-boys,  who  were  im- 
patiently waiting  their  turn.  The  first  boy,  by  far  the 
best  dressed  of  the  whole  party,  handed  in  his  five 
cents  like  a  man  and  straightway  proceeded  to  study 
the  pictures.  As  he  came  to  the  last  he  was  unwise 
enough  to  mutter  something  which  sounded  very  much 
like  the  words  "  first-class  fraud."  Mr.  Grael,  whose 
ready  ear  had  caught  the  sounds,  was  fully  equal  to 
the  emergency.  With  a  caressing  air  he  seized  the 
right  ear  of  the  boy,  who  was  still  looking  at  that  last 
picture,  and,  twisting  it  and  pinching  it  in  a  way  that, 
though  decidedly  artistic,  must  have  been  veiy  painful, 
playfully  remarked : 

"  An'  ain't  that  a  mighty  foine  pape-show  \  " 

The  boy  had  the  good  sense  to  accept  the  situation, 
and,  saying  aloud,  "  Yes,  splendid  !  Best  I  ever  saw," 
he  made  way  for  the  next  comer. 

The  other  boys  were  all  what  Mr.  Gallagher  calls 
"  one  and  two  centers."  So,  of  course,  they  said  nothing, 
but  quietly  walked  off. 

Our  next  patron  was  the  policeman  on  the  beat, 
who,  I  suppose,  in  consideration  of  his  not  ordering  Mr. 
Gallagher  to  move  on,  was  allowed  to  inspect  the  whole 
show  for  nothing. 

More  children  were  succeeded  by  more  children,  and 
the  two  showmen  were  doino-  a  thriving  business. 

27 


410  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  bidding  them  good-day,  when 
a  sailor,  who  had  evidently  passed  the  whole  morning 
in  a  rnm-hole,  slammed  down  a  twenty-five  cent  stamp 
on  the  top  of  the  show  with  a  force  which  almost  npset 
him  and  requested  Mr.  Gallagher  to  set  it  "  a-goin\" 
With  some  little  trouble,  and  by  bracing  his  knees  with 
his  hands,  he  managed  to  assume  a  stooping  position 
with  a  fair  amount  of  steadiness.  He  looked  first  at  one 
picture  and  then  at  another,  with  a  half-stupid  air,  until 
he  came  to  the  "  Hudson  by  Moonlight,"  when  he  sud- 
denly raised  himself  and  hiccoughed  out : 

"  Say,  boss,  I  guess  the  moon's  a  good  deal  out  of 
her  reckonin'.  She's  haulin'  close  into  the  sun,  and,  if 
she  don't  haul  off  sharp  into  her  right  course,  there'll 
be  a  'tarnal  smash  in  heaven  soon." 

I  dare  say  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  sailor 
had  seen  two  moons.  After  a  hearty  laugh,  in  which 
he  himself  joined,  he  exclaimed,  "  S'long,"  and  swayed 
away  up  the  street. 

I  too,  shortly  afterward,  bade  the  showmen  "  good- 
evening  "  but  not  before  Mr.  Gallagher  had  informed 
me  that,  at  country  fairs,  the  peep-show  often  brings 
him  in  fifteen  or  twenty  dollars  a  day,  many  of  the 
local  natives  coming  three  and  four  times  in  the  day  to 
see  it.  I  must  confess  myself  that  I  think  the  show, 
as  an  exhibition,  was  very  dear  at  five  cents. 

"  A.  P." 


ON     MONT     BLANC. 
(Portrait  from  a  photograph  by  Gurney.) 


UP  AND   DOWN  MONT  BLANC. 

"  Ah  !  very  fine  !  magnificent !  glorious  !  But  where's 
Mont  Blanc  ? "  is  the  innocent  exclamation  of  many 
when  they  arrive  at  Chainounix  on  their  first  Alpine 
tour.  They  cannot  believe  that  that  smooth,  round, 
snow-capped  summit,  at  which  they  are  so  eagerly  gaz- 
ing, is  really  the  world-wide-known  Mont  Blanc,  for 
their  imagination  has  always  pictured  it  to  be  so  very 
much  higher.  But  after  a  few  days'  residence  at  Cha- 
mounix,  an  excursion  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  or  a  toilsome 
ascent  of  the  Brevent,  which  faces  Mont  Blanc  on  the 
other  side  of  the  valley  and  from  the  top  of  which  the 
summit  of  Mont  Blanc  appears  to  be  far  higher  above 
than  it  does  from  the  valley  many  thousand  feet  below, 
they  soon  begin  to  feel  more  respect  and  loyalty  for  the 
Great  King  of  the  Alps. 

I  was  lounodno;  with  a  friend  one  beautiful  August 
evening,  some  years  ago,  on  the  balcony  of  our  hotel  at 
Chamounix,  when  the  snowy  crests  of  Mont  Blanc,  the 
Bosse  du  Dromedaire,  and  the  Dome  du  Goute  became 
gradually  illuminated  by  the  setting  sun  with  that  ex- 
quisitely delicate  carmine  tint  which  only  snow  will 


£12  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

receive  and  seemed  to  come  forward  in  the  atmosphere 
to  meet  us.  At  that  moment  I  felt  that,  for  the  first  time, 
I  properly  appreciated  the  grandeur  of  Mont  Blanc; 
for,  though  an  old  traveler,  I  had  never  been  able  en- 
tirely to  shake  off  the  feeling  of  disappointment  which 
I  had  experienced  at  its  apparent  want  of  size  and 
height  when  I  first  saw  it.  The  same  idea  had  evi- 
dently impressed  my  companion,  for,  turning  to  me,  he 
said : 

"  Yes.  There's  no  doubt  about  it.  That's  a  grand, 
magnificent  old  fellow."  And  then  he  added  in  a  mean- 
ing  tone,  "  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

I  instantly  divined  the  bent  of  his  question,  and, 
seized  with  a  sudden  enthusiasm,  I  replied : 

"  Say !     That  I  am  with  you  !  " 

"  Come  along,  then,"  he  rejoined  ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment we  were  hurrying  on  our  way  to  the  Bureau  des 
Guides  to  make  preparations  for  starting  the  following 
morning  on  that  perilous  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  which, 
for  many  years,  has  been  the  object  of  the  European 
mountain-traveler's  highest  ambition. 

Quietly  informing  the  ladies  of  our  party  that  we 
were  going  for  an  excursion  on  the  following  day,  we 
went  to  bed  and  were  soon  forgetful  of  Mont  Blanc, 
snow-fields,  glaciers,  and  crevasses,  and  all  the  para- 
phernalia for  making  the  ascent,  which  we  had  care- 
fully inspected  (a  faulty  rope  means  death  to  the 
whole  party),  till  a  loud  rap  and  "  Monsieur,  dest 
jusque  cinq  lieures"  made  me  spring  out  of  bed ;  for 


UP  AND  DOWN   MONT  BLANC.  413 

Jean  Philippe  Coutet  is  a  thorough  despot  as  the  leader 
of  a  mountain  expedition,  and  he  had  given  strict  orders 
that  we  should  be  ready  to  start  at  six  o'clock  at  the 
latest. 

Hurrying  down- stairs,  we  found  Coutet  and  Joseph 
Tissay,  our  two  glacier-guides,  busily  engaged  in  super- 
intending the  completion  of  our  preparations ;  Coutet 
giving  his  orders  with  all  the  air  of  a  general  officer 
preparing  for  a  campaign.  He  had  insisted  the  night 
before  that  we  should  obey  all  his  instructions  with 
military  precision  ;  declaring  that  he  would  not  take 
charge  of  the  expedition  unless  we  agreed  to  regard 
him  as  our  commanding  officer,  and  even  going  so  far  as 
to  say  that  he  would  order  our  breakfast  himself. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  I  want  you  to  eat  that  which  will 
put  most  vigor  into  you,  for  your  endurance  will  be 
taxed  to  the  utmost  before  you  reach  the  summit." 

All  was  at  last  ready  for  the  start,  and  precisely  at 
six  o'clock,  amid  a  few  faint  cheers  from  the  hotel- 
waiters  and  those  of  the  guests  who  were  already  up, 
we  marched  out  of  the  court-yard  of  the  hotel. 

Our  staff  consisted  of  Coutet  and  Tissay,  both  pro- 
vided with  light  but  strong  Alpine  poles  with  an  ice- 
axe  attached  to  the  upper  end ;  four  porters,  carrying 
lanterns,  blankets,  provisions,  fire-wood,  and  other  arti- 
cles likely  to  be  useful,  and  each  of  whom  had  several 
feet  of  rope  wound  round  his  body;  and  last,  though  not 
least — as  will  be  found  out  hereafter — Tissay's  dog,  Bou- 
quet, a  white  French  poodle  of  remarkable  intelligence. 


414:  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

No  more  propitious  day  could  Lave  been  chosen 
for  our  expedition.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  air 
balmy  and  soft.  There  was  fortunately  a  total  absence 
of  wind  (for  a  slight  breeze  in  the  valley  blows  a  gale 
of  wind  above  the  snow-line),  and,  what  was  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  us,  the  barometer  was  rising. 
The  excitement  naturally  arising  from  the  adventure 
we  had  started  on  and  the  splendid  summer  morning 
produced  in  us  an  exhilaration  of  spirits  which  Coutet 
had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  within  bounds ;  and,  as 
we  made  our  way  along  the  bridle-path  which  leads  to 
the  little  village  of  Les  Pelerins,  whence  the  ascent  of 
Mont  Blanc  commences,  lie  would  constantly  exclaim, 
"  Don cement !  messieurs,  doucement  !  "  as  we  jumped 
over  some  obstacle  or  fence  instead  of  climbing  or  step- 
ping over  it.  He  knew,  only  too  well,  that  every  spark 
of  vital  force  expended  then  would  have  to  be  bitterly 
atoned  for  afterward.  The  early  part  of  the  ascent  was 
comparatively  uninteresting.  The  narrow  path  lay,  for 
two  hours,  through  a  growth  of  wild  shrubs  and  stunted 
pines  and,  though  very  steep  and  rough,  was  free  from 
all  impediments  and  difficulties.  On  our  left  we  skirted 
the  ravine  through  which  rushes  the  mountain-torrent 
which  feeds  the  Cascades  des  Pelerins  ;  on  our  right  lay 
the  great  Glacier  des  Bossons,  looking,  as  we  caught 
glimpses  of  it  through  the  trees,  like  the  crystallized 
ruins  of  some  great  city.  Pursuing  the  zigzag  moun- 
tain-path we  arrived  at  the  little  Chalet  de  la  Para, 
where  we  may  be  said  to  have  left  the  human  world  be- 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  415 

hind  us.  From  this  point  our  route  became  more  wild 
and  rugged  and  the  shrubs  and  pines  more  and  more 
stunted  and  scattered,  till  at  last  we  lost  sight  of  them 
altogether.  Pushing  steadily  on,  we  reached  the  Pierre 
Pontue,  a  huge  bowlder  of  rock,  forming  an  outwork,  as 
it  were,  to  one  of  the  great  bastions  thrown  out  at  the 
base  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  here  we  found  ourselves  face  to 
face  with  our  first  difficulty.  It  is  impossible  to  traverse 
the  Pierre  Pontue ;  it  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  pass 
round  it.  And  yet  the  narrow  ledge,  scarcely  a  foot 
w^ide,  which  skirts  the  perpendicular  mass  of  rock  tow- 
ering high  above,  hangs  directly  over  the  moraine  of 
the  glacier,  at  an  elevation  of  several  hundred  feet. 
One  false  step,  one  fascinated  look  into  the  abyss  below, 
is  certain  death ;  while  the  extreme  narrowness  of  the 
ledge  often  causes  the  shoulder  to  rub  against  the  rock 
itself.  However,  we  were  undismayed,  the  spirit  of 
adventure  was  thoroughly  aroused  in  us,  and  we  started 
unflinchingly  on  the  narrow  track  and  passed  safely 
round.  Slightly  descending,  as  we  left  the  Pierre 
Pontue,  we  made  our  way  through  a  mass  of  loose  rub- 
ble and  debris  to  the  Pierre  l'Echelle,  from  which  a 
short  walk  brought  us  to  the  edo-e  of  the  Glacier  des 
Bossons. 

The  glacier  is  here  nine  hundred  feet  wide,  and  is 
computed  to  be  about  five  hundred  feet  in  depth.  Its 
annual  downward  movement  is  about  five  hundred  and 
fifty  feet,  but  the  movement  is  much  more  rapid  in  the 
centre,  as  is  the  mid-stream  of  a  river.     Forty  or  fifty 


±16  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

years  would  probably  elapse  before  a  body  falling  into 
a  crevasse  in  the  upper  part  of  the  glacier  would  make 
its  appearance  in  the  valley  below.  Some  years  ago  a 
friend  of  mine,  while  crossing  the  St.  Theodule  Pass, 
picked  up  some  arm -bones,  particles  of  clothing,  a 
watch-case,  and  other  things,  which  were  supposed  to 
have  belonged  to  a  party  lost  on  the  glacier  above 
eight-and-thirty  years  before. 

We  stopped  at  this  spot  (the  edge  of  the  glacier)  for 
nearly  half  an  hour  for  the  purpose  of  preparing  our- 
selves for  crossing  the  glacier;  for,  in  crossing,  it  is  in- 
dispensable to  take  every  precaution  against  cold  and 
the  glare  of  the  sun. 

Our  make-up  was  highly  conducive  to  comfort,  but 
far  from  ornamental.  A  large  woolen  comforter  placed 
on  the  top  of  the  head  underneath  the  hat,  the  ends 
covering  the  ears,  crossing  under  the  chin,  and  tied  at 
the  back  of  the  neck  ;  a  pair  of  heavy  green  spectacles ; 
a  thick  green  veil ;  some  pieces  of  stout  rough  flannel 
wound  round  and  round  the  calves  of  the  legs,  to  pre- 
vent them  from  being  cut  by  the  sharp,  jagged  edges 
of  the  ice  ;  a  thick  woolen  bandage  enveloping  the 
waist ;  and  a  pair  of  coarse  woolen  mittens,  without 
■finders  and  lined  with  flannel,  such  as  babies  wear  in 
winter-time,  combined  to  give  us  an  appearance  highly 
laughable  and  grotesque. 

Thus  attired,  we  stepped  boldly  on  to  the  glacier; 
Coutet  keeping  me  well  within  reach  of  his  powerful 
grasp  and  watching  my  every  step  with  eager  anxiety ; 


UP   AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  417 

Tissay  exercising  a  like  watchfulness  over  my  compan- 
ion. 

At  first  the  ease  with  which,  by  the  help  of  our  iron- 
shod  poles,  we  jumped  from  one  block  of  ice  to  another 
or  sprang  lightly  across  a  narrow  chasm,  led  us  to  sup- 
pose that  we  had  greatly  overrated  the  dangers  and 
difficulties  of  the  glacier  ;  for  some  glaciers  are  very 
easy  to  traverse  —  the  Mer  de  Glace,  for  instance, 
on  which  many  of  my  lady  readers  have  doubtless 
walked.  However,  a  crevasse,  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide, 
which  we  soon  after  encountered  directly  in  our  path, 
quickly  dispelled  this  pleasing  illusion.  The  guides 
threw  a  light  ladder,  which  they  had  brought  with 
them  from  Pierre  l'Echelle,  across  it,  and  we  crawled 
over  on  our  hands  and  knees,  not  at  all  enjoying 
the  contemplation  of  the  deep  -  blue  crystal  sides 
of  the  yawning  chasm  through  the  rungs  of  the  lad- 
der. 

The  glacier  soon  became  much  more  wild  and  brok- 
en and,  in  places,  presented  objects  of  surpassing  beauty. 
Broad  and  bridgeless  chasms,  whose  depth  we  endeav- 
ored vainly  to  ascertain  ;  towering  masses  of  clear  blue 
ice,  in  forms  that,  from  their  strangeness,  seemed  al- 
most unreal,  and  with  a  sparkling-crystallized  surface ; 
arches,  grottoes,  spires,  pinnacles,  towers,  all  perfect, 
palaces  of  snowy  whiteness  and  azure  crystal,  often 
with,  festoons  of  icicles  hanging  like  silver  fringes  from 
their  ledges ;  and  here  and  there  great  caverns,  dark, 
solemn,  and  gloomy,  whose  frowning  entrances  were 


±18  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

guarded  by  mammoth  stalactites  of  ice,  frequently 
eighteen  inches  or  two  feet  in  thickness,  and  fifteen  to 
twenty  feet  long. 

In  some  places  the  glacier  was  rent  almost  from  side 
to  side,  enormous  masses  of  ice  and  debris  being  lodged 
half  in,  half  out  of  the  ruts,  and  forming  the  only  bridges 
by  which  we  could  cross  them.  Consequently,  we  soon 
came  to  one  which  necessitated  a  little  consultation,  and 
Coutet  ordered  a  halt.  A  moment's  deliberation  and 
Coutet  would  exclaim  "  tout  droit "  to  Tissay,  and  then, 
turning  to  us,  would  say :  "  Allons)  messieurs.  Mais 
plantez  lien  vos  talons."  Or,  as  an  Anglo-Saxon  would 
put  it,  "  Stick  your  heels  well  in." 

We  had  scarcely  started  again  when  a  puff  of  wind 
met  us,  and  away  went  Tissay's  soft  felt-hat,  rolling 
over  the  ice  in  search  of  the  nearest  crevasse.  Tissay 
was  in  despair,  for  without  a  hat  the  heat  of  the  sun 
and  the  cold  of  the  higher  regions  would  be  unendur- 
able.  Fortunately,  however,  one  of  the  porters,  who 
was  a  little  behind  and  close  to  the  crevasse  into  which 
the  hat  had  fallen,  called  out  that  he  could  see  it  lying 
on  a  ledge  about  twenty  feet  down.  A  coil  of  rope  was 
instantly  unwound  and  securely  attached  to  the  un- 
happy porter's  body,  and,  all  of  us  bearing  a  hand,  we 
lowered  him  into  the  crevasse,  which  was  not  more  than 
two  or  three  feet  wide.  In  a  minute  the  porter  shouted 
and  we  drew  him  up  again,  when  he  appeared  with 
blanched  face,  blue  lips,  and  chattering  teeth,  but  hap- 
pily with  Tissay's  hat  in  his  hand.     Such  is  the  intense 


UP  AND   DOWN  MONT   BLANC.  419 

cold  of  these  narrow  crevasses  into  which  the  warm 
uj3per  air  cannot  penetrate  ! 

While  waiting  here,  Coutet  and  Tissay  held  a  short 
consultation,  at  which  they  agreed  that  the  time  had 
come  for  us  to  be  roped  together.  A  good  strong  rope, 
quite  new,  and  which  we  had  thoroughly  tested  before 
leaving  Chamounix,  was  accordingly  firmly  secured 
round  the  body  of  the  stoutest  of  our  porters  and,  at 
intervals  of  ten  or  fifteen  feet,  was  passed  round  each 
of  us,  and  knotted  before  and  behind  ;  two  porters  oc- 
cupying the  middle  position  between  my  friend  and 
myself.  Coutet  and  Tissay,  of  course,  were  not  at- 
tached to  the  rope,  as  it  was  often  necessary  for  them 
to  go  on  ahead  a  little  to  use  their  ice-axes. 

Once  more  we  started ;  Tissay's  dog  Bouquet  lead- 
ing the  way,  with  an  important,  jaunty  air,  through 
this  marvelous  frozen  scene.  The  vast  expanse  of  ice 
all  around  us,  the  almost  majestic  forms  the  enormous 
masses  sometimes  assumed,  the  sun  flashing  brilliantly 
on  the  sapphire-colored  interiors  of  the  crevasses,  the 
never-ending  plains  of  pure  snow  stretching  in  all  di- 
rections above  the  glacier,  the  great  Aiguille  de  Midi 
frowning  gloomily  down  on  us,  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc,  the  crests  of  the  Bosse  du  Dromedaire  and  the 
Dome  du  Goute  towering  high  above  in  all  their 
snowy  whiteness,  composed  a  scene  of  inexpressible 
grandeur ;  while  the  almost  oppressive  stillness,  save 
when  some  great  avalanche  came  thundering  and  crash- 
ing down,  filled  us  with  awe. 


420  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

But  our  progress  soon  began  to  be  painfully  slow. 
Again  and  again  we  had  to  cut  steps  in  the  ice,  in  order 
to  climb  over  some  great  mass  which  we  could  not  get 
round.  Sometimes  we  were  obliged  to  pass  a  consid- 
erable distance  along  the  margin  of  a  wide  crevasse  to 
find  some  point  sufficiently  narrow  to  admit  of  our 
springing  across.  Occasionally  we  were  compelled  to 
lower  ourselves  down  into  a  crevasse  to  some  ledge 
where  its  sides  approached,  and  then  to  cut  our  way 
up  on  the  other  side. 

When  this  was  necessary  and  we  were  all  safely 
huddled  down  on  the  little  ledge,  Coutet  would  cut  a 
few  steps  in  the  wall  of  ice,  raise  himself  a  foot  or  two, 
and  then,  clinging  with  one  hand  and  his  toes,  cut  more 
steps  ;  repeating  the  operation  till  he  reached  the  top. 
Tissay  would  follow  him,  and,  having  secured  a  rope 
round  his  body,  would  make  himself  fast  in  the  snow 
and  ice.  Coutet  would  then  pass  the  rope  round  his 
body  and  lower  the  end  down  to  us ;  and,  when  we 
had  attached  it  to  ourselves,  would  haul  us  up  one 
after  another,  using  Tissay  as  an  anchorage.  The  sen- 
sation of  swinging  mid-air  over  a  yawning  crevasse, 
with  only  a  slight  rope  between  yourself  and  eternity, 
is  most  unpleasant ;  nor  can  I  say  that  the  position  is, 
by  any  means,  a  dignified  one. 

At  one  time  we  came  to  a  crevasse  at  least  forty 
feet  wide  and  of  unknown  depth,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  Coutet's  face  wore  a  puzzled,  anxious  expression, 
for  he  feared  we  should  have  to  go  back  and  try  some 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT   BLANC.  421 

other  route.  But,  on  walking  a  hundred  yards  along 
the  edge  of  the  crevasse,  we  found  that,  when  it  had 
formed,  a  portion  of  the  mass  had  split  off,  one  end  ad- 
hering to  the  upper  and  the  other  to  the  lower  side  of 
the  main  body  of  ice,  forming  a  narrow  connecting 
ridge  in  an  oblique  direction.  To  our  horror  and 
amazement,  our  guides  declared  their  intention  of  cross- 
ing this  narrow  ridge  of  ice,  which  thinned  toward  the 
middle  and  for  twenty  feet  or  more  wTas  a  simple  edge. 
Coutet  was  obliged  to  creep  along  this  edge,  chipping 
the  top  off  with  his  axe,  in  order  to  make  it  wide 
enough  for  us  to  wralk  on.  This  wre  did  by  placing 
the  feet  at  right  angles  to  the  body,  and  letting  the 
ridge  fit  into  the  hollow  of  the  foot.  And  thus,  with 
Coutet  and  Tissay  walking,  the  one  in  front,  and 
the  other  behind  us,  and  supporting  one  of  their 
poles  between  them,  to  which  we  clung  like  a  bal- 
ustrade in  order  to  steady  ourselves,  we  crept  breath- 
lessly over,  rejoicing  greatly  to  find  ourselves  safe  on 
the  other  side. 

Occasionally  we  traversed  places  where  the  cre- 
vasses and  interstices  were  entirely  filled  in  with  drift- 
ed snow,  and,  in  crossing  one  of  these  traps,  I  suddenly 
felt  the  snow  give  way  under  me  and  I  sank  through, 
my  legs  dangling  helplessly  in  the  empty  space  of  the 
crevasse.  Such  a  position  is  a  little  alarming  at  first 
but  is  really  not  one  of  any  danger.  The  rope  and  my 
outstretched  arms  prevented  me  sinking  further  than 
my  arm-juts,  and,  after   heartily  laughing  at  me  and 


4:22  THE    AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

passing  one  or  two  jokes  at  my  expense,  Coutet  and 
Tissay  came  and  helped  me  out. 

But,  by  this  time,  we  were  fast  approaching  our 
resting-place — the  half-way  house  between  Cbamounix 
and  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc. 

The  frequenters  of  the  grand  and  lovely  valley  of 
Chamounix  are  familiar  with  the  cluster  of  lofty-pointed 
rocks  or  small  aiguilles  which  rise  black,  gaunt,  and 
bare,  from  the  Swiss  side  of  Mont  Blanc,  just  under  the 
Petit  Plateau,  at  the  junction  of  the  Glaciers  des  Bos- 
sons  and  Tacconaz.  So  great  is  the  contrast  of  their 
dark  shade  against  the  vast  expanse  of  ice  and  snow 
which  surrounds  them  that,  though  they  are  ten  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  they  can  be  easily 
seen  from  Chamounix  without  the  aid  of  a  telescope. 
They  are  the  half-way  house,  the  resting-place,  for  those 
who  have  sufficient  strength  and  nerve  to  dare  the  toil- 
some and  dangerous  ascent  of  the  giant  of  the  Alps, 
and  are,  consequently,  a  point  of  great  interest  to  the 
hotel  loungers  in  the  valley  below,  when  it  is  known 
that  a  party  of  hardy  and  venturesome  mountaineers 
are  bearding  the  monarch  of  ice  and  snow  in  his  den 
and  are  preparing  themselves  for  the  almost  life-and- 
death  struggle  of  the  morrow — the  tussle  between  will 
and  exhausted  nature,  which  must  be  bravely  fought  out 
before,  ay  !  even  the  strongest  man  can  stand  on  the 
summit  of  Mont  Blanc. 

To  me,  as  we  cut  our  way  up  piles  of  clear,  blue, 
glittering  ice,  jumped  the  yawning  crevasses,  or  crawled 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  403 

over  the  treacherous  snow-bridges,  while  crossing  the 
great  glacier,  they  seemed  like  the  port  which  the  storm- 
tossed  mariner  knows  that  his  gallant  ship  is  Hearing. 
When  we  got  on  to  the  soft  snow,  on  the  same  level 
with  them,  I  became  as  impatient  as  the  camel  of  the 
desert  when  his  instinct  tells  him  that  he  is  approach- 
ing water ;  and  yet  it  almost  seemed  that  we  should 
never  reach  them,  although  they  appeared  to  be  within 
a  stone's  throw.  Such  is  the  brilliant  clearness  of  the 
atmosphere  in  those  elevated  regions,  so  startlingly  do 
objects  stand  out  in  relief,  that  for  nearly  two  hours 
before  reaching  the  Grands  Mulets  I  had  thought  we 
were  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  of  them.  Their 
size,  not  the  distinctness  with  which  we  saw  them,  in- 
creased as  we  gradually  neared  them  ;  till,  at  last,  they 
looked  three  times  as  large  as  they  did  when  I  had  first 
thought  that  we  were  close  to  them. 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  before  reaching  the 
base  of  our  rocky  resting-place  we  had  to  labor  through 
soft,  fresh  snow,  sinking  every  step  to  the  knees  and 
often  to  the  waist.  The  strain  on  the  muscles  of  the 
shoulders  and  the  back,  from  this  constant  sinking  in 
the  snow,  was  excessively  painful  and  exhausting,  as 
the  foot  on  which  the  weight  of  the  body  was  thrown 
would  not  penetrate  the  thin  crust  of  hardened  snow 
till  just  as  the  body  was  bent  forward  preparatory  to 
planting  the  other  foot  for  another  step.  Moreover, 
our  clothing  was  fast  becoming  saturated  from  sinking 
so  often  in  the  snow,  and  the  cold  was  beginning  to  tell 


124  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

on  our  legs  and  to  strike  upward  and  inward.  And  yet 
the  heat  of  the  sun,  as  its  rays  poured  fiercely  down  on 
us,  was  terrific — so  great  that  we  had  to  pile  cakes  of 
snow  on  our  hats  ;  and  the  glare  from  the  diamond- 
sparkling,  frosted  surface  of  the  snow  was  dazzling, 
even  through  the  green  spectacles  and  veils  which  we 
wore.  Indeed,  had  we  not  provided  ourselves  with 
these  spectacles  and  veils  we  should  have  been  utterly 
blinded  and  would  have  lost  all  the  skin  from  our 
faces.  As  it  was,  we  were  tolerably  disfigured  for  a 
week  afterward  and  spent  a  small  fortune  in  kalydor 
and  glycerine. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  sinking  snow,  we  trudged  per- 
severingly  on,  and  at  last  found  ourselves  at  the  foot 
of  the  Grands  Mulets.  On  the  top  of  one  of  these 
towering  needle-shaped  rocks — like  an  eagle's  eyrie — 
the  Chamounix  guides  have  erected  a  small  wooden 
shanty,  wherein  mountaineers  ascending  Mont  Blanc 
may  pass  the  night,  secure  from  all  danger  from  ava- 
lanches. Every  one  of  the  guides  carried  up  a  single 
plank  or  a  post,  on  which  his  name  is  burnt  in,  by  way 
of  commemorating  his  share  in  the  construction  of  the 
shanty.  Our  glacier-guides,  Coutet  and  Tissay,  pointed 
out  their  names  with  pride  to  us,  while  our  four  porters 
stood  looking  on  with  an  envious  expression  on  their 
ordinarily  stolid  faces,  knowing  that  there  was  no  fur- 
ther opportunity  for  them  to  distinguish  themselves  in 
like  manner. 

On  reaching  the  Grands  Mulets,  we  had  thought 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  425 

that  our  difficulties  were  over  for  that  day,  but  we 
fouud  the  ascent  of  the  needle-pointed  rock,  on  which 
the  shanty  stands,  not  only  trying  but  dangerous.  Por- 
tions of  the  micaceous  strata,  of  which  it  is  composed, 
were  loosely  scattered  all  over  its  nearly  perpendicular 
face.  They  often  gave  way  with  the  slightest  touch  of 
the  foot  and  were  dangerous  to  those  coming  up  be- 
hind. The  physical  strain,  too,  was  great  and.  continu- 
ous, for,  apart  from  the  unnatural  tension  of  the  mus- 
cles of  the  legs  in  toiling  up  so  steep  an  ascent,  we 
slipped  at  least  one  step  back  for  two  forward  amid  the 
loose  debris.  But,  just  as  we  were  half  way  up,  the 
faint  boom  of  a  gun  from  the  valley  caught  our  ear. 

"  Courage,  messieurs  !  "  cried  Coutet ;  "  tout  Glia- 
mounix  nous  regarded 

Perhaps  half  a  hundred  telescopes  were  fixed  upon 
us  at  that  moment.  That  gun  was  the  announcement 
of  our  safe  arrival  at  the  Grands  Millets.  Coutet's  tout 
Cliamounix  nous  regarde  was  a  spur  to  which  no  man's 
pride  could  fail  to  respond.  All  feeling  of  fatigue  van- 
ished in  an  instant,  and  we  quickly  found  ourselves 
standing  on  the  little  platform  on  the  top  of  the  aiguille, 
as  though  we  had  been  magically  transported  there,  and 
waving  our  hats  to  the  valley  below,  trusting  that  those 
who  had  telescopes  would  notice  our  action. 

Hastily  unpacking  one  of  the  porter's  knapsacks, 
Tissay  struck  the  neck  off  a  bottle  and,  with  mock  cere- 
mony, handed  my  companion  and  me  a  bumper  each  of 
the  very  welcome  vin  du  pays.     We  waited  just  long 

28 


±26  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOm 

enough  to  toast  a  young  paysanne,  to  whom  Coutet 
was  engaged  to  "be  married,  and  asked  for  more,  like  a 
pair  of  overgrown  Oliver  Twists.  Our  greediness  af- 
forded poor  Coutet  a  chance  of  concealing  his  tell-tale 
blushes  by  running  in  search  of  another  bottle,  and  Tis- 
say  quietly  gave  us  a  "  leg  up  "  on  to  the  roof  of  the 
shanty,  where  we  were  to  lie  and  dry  our  clothes  in  the 
hot  sun.  The  model  laundries  of  New  York,  Paris,  or 
London,  are  fools  to  that  Nature's  drying-room — the 
roof  of  the  Grands  Mulets  cabin.  For  about  half  an 
hour  we  lay,  stretched  out  at  full  length,  on  that  cabin- 
roof,  with  one  light  shawl  thrown  over  our  two  heads  to 
keep  off  the  glare ;  our  wet  clothing  throwing  off  vol- 
umes of  steam  worthy  of  a  dye-house,  as  we  every  now 
and  then  turned  over,  so  as  to  get  roasted  on  both 
sides.  In  half  an  hour  our  clothes  were  thoroughly 
dry,  and  our  dinner,  an  honestly  alfresco  collation,  was 
laid  out.  Coutet,  who  could  easily  have  touched  us 
from  where  he  stood,  amused  himself  by  giving  a  good, 
rollicking  Swiss  jodel,  which,  in  the  stillness  of  that 
silent  region,  I  have  no  doubt  might  have  been  heard 
a  mile  away,  as  it  went  echoing  and  reechoing  along 
the  mountain-sides. 

Hungry  as  I  was,  I  found  dinner  no  easy  matter. 
My  friend  and  fellow-mountaineer  was  in  the  same 
box.  A  mouthful  of  cold  chicken,  washed  down  (liter- 
ally) with  a  couple  of  glasses  of  red  wine,  was  all  we 
could  manage.  They  were  quickly  stowed  away,  and 
we  stepped  outside  the  cabin  to  look  about  us. 


UP  AND   DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  427 

Drenched  to  the  skin  from  the  waist  downward, 
hungry  and  exhausted  as  we  were  from  our  toilsome 
ascent,  when  we  had  first  reached  our  pinnacled  po- 
sition, we  had  paid  absolutely  no  attention  to  the 
marvelous  prospect  which  now  met  our  astonished 
gaze  on  all  sides,  but  once  rested  and  refreshed,  we 
were  lost  in  wonder  at  the  unspeakable  grandeur 
of  the  scenery  amid  which  we  found  ourselves.  Far 
away,  ten  thousand  feet  below  us,  lay  the  busy,  sun- 
shiny little  village  of  Chamounix ;  its  churches,  hotels, 
its  tourists,  gossips,  flirts,  guides,  loungers,  river,  and 
bridges,  all  lost  and  mingled  in  one  little  white  speck 
in  the  narrow-looking  green  valley.  Other  and  smaller 
villages  looked  like  smaller  specks,  cast  off  from  Cha- 
mounix in  the  world's  revolution.  Could  that  mound 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  possibly  be  the  great 
Brevent?  I  asked  myself.  Yes,  there  was  the  grand 
old  Jura  range  rising  solemnly  as  a  background  behind 
it,  but  looking  far  more  lofty  and  solemn  than  they  did 
from  the  Brevent  itself.  At  our  feet  lay  the  frozen 
mighty  rivers — the  Glaciers  des  Bossons  and  Du  Tac- 
conaz — which  drain  the  northern  side  of  Mont  Blanc. 
Stretching  away  above  us  were  the  Grand  and  Petit 
Plateaux,  those  vast,  prairie-like  snow-fields  which  we 
knew  would  prove  so  trying  to  our  endurance  on  the 
morrow.  On  our  left,  rising  up  from  the  Glacier  des 
Bossons,  stood  the  grim,  wild-looking  Aiguille  du  Midi, 
contrasting  strangely  with  the  silvery  whiteness  of  its 
neighbors.     And  then,  in  succession,  came  Mont  Blanc 


428  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

de  Tacul,  the  Aiguille  sans  Norn,  Mont  Blanc,  looking 
like  a  snowy  pyramid  which  had  had  its  point  and 
edges  rounded  off  by  time,  the  Bosse  du  Dromedaire 
and  the  Dome  du  Goute,  with  a  covering  of  pure  white 
snow,  which  would  have  made  a  throne  for  Chastity 
herself;  a  congregation  of  Nature's  wonders,  which  re- 
versed the  general  order  of  things  and  preached  the 
sermon  to  the  parson,  which  told  of  the  marvels  of  crea- 
tion in  language  which  Moses  himself  could  not  com- 
mand, and  made  me  forget  for  the  moment  God's  most 
glorious  creation — the  man,  whom  he  created  in  his 
own  image.  It  was  a  marvelously  harmonious  combina- 
tion of  every  thing  that  is  grand  in  Nature ;  peaks,  sum- 
mits, ice-walls,  snow-fields,  all,  apparently,  of  immeasur- 
able size  and  height — magnificent  from  their  very  vast- 
ness,  and  splendid  in  their  rugged  and  snowy  beauty. 

What  with  basking  in  the  sun,  enjoying  the  marvel- 
ous panorama,  alternately  listening  to  the  songs  and 
shuddering  at  the  recital  of  the  adventures  of  our 
guides,  and  smoking  the  calumet  of  rest  and  peace  after 
our  hard  day's  work,  the  afternoon  flew  rapidly  by  and 
sunset  was  upon  us  long,  before  we  wished  for,  or  ex- 
pected it.  Some  time  before  the  sunset  approached  our 
horizon,  the  valley  below  was  bathed  in  a  golden  light, 
and,  as  the  massive  evening  clouds  drifted  slowly  and 
leisurely  along  its  windings,  they  caused  the  rays  of  the 
fast-sinking  sun  to  clothe  the  valley  and  lower  moun- 
tain-ridges with  richly-variegated  colors — changing  con- 
tinually from  yellow  and  deep  green  to  purple  and 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  429 

orange,  to  crimson  and  brown,  and  then  back  again  to 
bright  golden  and  sea-green  tints,  save  when  the  stream- 
ing light  passed  over  some  torrent's  gorge,  leaving  a 
broad,  black  streak.  From  minute  to  minute,  almost 
from  second  to  second,  did  these  rich  and  mellow  colors 
come  and  go,  changing  and  varying  with  all  the  brill- 
iant effects  of  the  kaleidoscope,  softened  and  toned 
down  by  the  delicate  touch  of  Nature.  It  seemed  al- 
most as  if  the  fairy  scene  of  some  delicious  summer- 
evening  dream  were  passing  in  review  before  us.  And 
then,  gradually,  as  the  evening  mists  slowly  collected, 
all  was  lost  in  a  sea  of  delicate  luminous  blue,  shading 
off  into  a  very  pale  aqua-marine,  such  as  one  might 
picture  to  one's  self  would  be  the  effect  of  the  evening 
mists  when  gathering  over  the  waters  of  Paradise.  It 
was  a  scene  of  marvelous  and  unique  beauty;  one 
which  I  felt  I  should  never  have  the  good  fortune  again 
to  behold,  while  comforting  myself  with  the  reflection 
that  I  could  never  forget  it. 

Gradually  a  heavy  gloom  settled  over  the  valley. 
In  fact,  it  was  dusk  there  while  the  sun  yet  threw  his 
last  rays  on  our  elevated  lodging-place.  And  now  the 
action  of  this  gorgeous  play  of  Nature  included  us. 
One  by  one,  the  peaks  immediately  below  us  Avere 
caught  in  the  soft  though  brilliant  light  and  were 
tinged  writh  rose  or  purple.  Then  we  ourselves  were 
dazzled  and  almost  mystified  by  the  ethereal  glow 
which  surrounded  us  and  by  the  glorious  brilliancy  of 
the  prismatic  colors  which  flashed  from  the  arches,  the 


4-30  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

grottoes,  the  spires  and  pillars  of  crystal  ice  on  the 
glacier.  One  huge  grotto,  immediately  at  our  feet,  was 
especially  beautiful.  Its  exterior  was  suffused  with 
every  tint,  from  the  brightest  sapphire  to  the  richest 
opal;  its  interior  almost  appeared  to  be  lined  with 
glossy  satin  of  the  most  delicate  rose-hue.  It  was  a 
perfect  palace — fit  for  the  Princess  of  Light  herself. 
And.  lastly,  the  snowy  plains  and  summits  above  us 
were  suffused  with  a  carmine  tint,  as  though  their 
virgin  snows  had  been  suddenly  stained  with  blood. 
The  illumination  of  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Dome  du 
Goute  brought  them  nearer  to  us.  They  seemed  to 
come  forward  in  the  atmosphere  and  approach  us,  float- 
ing in  a  sea  of  liquid  fire.  It  was  an  entrancing  spec- 
tacle. The  brush  of  no  Claude,  no  Poussin,  no  Turner, 
no  Bierstadt,  could  do  justice  to  it.  The  great  painter 
of  Nature  had  realized  the  ideal  and  had  fashioned  and 
colored  it  so  that  it  was  impossible  of  imitation.  It 
was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  I  felt  that  I  fully  ap- 
preciated the  giant  King  of  the  Alps. 

Luxuriating  in  the  glories  so  lavishly  scattered 
around  us,  we  were  suddenly  recalled  to  the  more 
worldly  realities  of  our  position  by  a  puff  of  chilled 
air  which  passed  over  us — gentle,  yet  producing  an  un- 
mistakable shiver,  and,  though  Mont  Blanc  and  the 
Dome  du  Goute  were  still  ablaze  with  glory,  the  sun 
had  set  for  us  and  night  was  rapidly  approaching.  For 
a  few  minutes  we  lingered  in  rapt,  silent  contemplation 
of  the  surpassing  loveliness  of  Mont  Blanc,  but   no 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  431 

sooner  had  the  sun  disappeared  below  our  horizon  than 
the  thermometer  fell  rapidly — nearly  ten  degrees  in  as 
many  minutes,  I  should  judge — and  we  were  only  too 
glad  to  seek  the  shelter  of  the  little  cabin  and  snatch  a 
few  hours'  repose  in  order  to  j3repare  ourselves  for  the 
great  struggle  of  the  next  day. 

Within  an  hour  we  were  all  crowding  and  cuddling 
together,  like  pigs  in  a  farm-yard,  on  the  heap  of  straw 
which  formed  our  bed  ;  only  too  glad  to  lie  side  by  side 
and  back  to  back,  that  we  might  keep  one  another 
warm.  Our  guides  and  porters  blessed  themselves, 
muttered  a  pater-noster  and  an  or  a  pro  nobis  or  two, 
and  were  soon  all  soundly  asleep.  Not  so  my  com- 
panion and  myself.  The  strangeness  of  our  situa- 
tion, the  natural  excitement  of  adventure  under  which 
we, were  laboring,  over-fatigue,  and  the  intense  cold, 
kept  us  wide  awake,  and,  in  low  whispers,  we  dis- 
cussed the  events  of  the  day  and  the  prospects  of  the 
morrow. 

Three  hours  and  a  half  had  thus  passed  wearily 
away  when,  suddenly,  a  crash,  as  of  a  thousand  pieces 
of  artillery  discharged  at  the  same  moment,  followed 
by  a  roaring,  hissing,  rushing  noise,  such  as  almost  aj> 
palls  one  when  standing  under  the  Falls  of  Niagara — 
that  glory  of  Nature's  works  in  the  New  World — 
caused  all  to  spring  to  their  feet ;  and,  amid  the  oaths 
and  imprecations  and  prayers  to  the  Madonna  of  our 
guides,  we  rushed  to  the  little  platform  outside  the 
cabin. 


±32  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Of  all  the  scenes  which  I  have  ever  witnessed,  few 
have  impressed  me  so  greatly  as  the  one  which  we 
then  beheld.  From  the  great  overhanging  ridge  at 
the  side  of  the  Aiguille  du  Midi,  which  was  only  sepa- 
rated from  us  by  the  Glacier,  what  seemed  to  me  to 
be  one-half  of  the  mountain  came  thundering  down, 
tearing  and  hurrying  along  the  valley  of  the  glacier. 
The  roar  and  noise  of  the  falling  of  this  avalanche,  so 
close  to  us,  was  deafening  and  terrible ;  and,  as  the 
thousands  of  tons  of  huge  masses  of  rocks  and  ice 
came  crashing  down  the  mountain-side,  as  though  they 
would  tear  creation  itself  to  pieces,  they  split  into 
thousands  of  fragments  wherever  they  struck,  causing 
myriads  of  sparks  of  fire  to  fly  in  all  directions  with 
all  the  vividness  and  brilliancy  of  a  pyrotechnical  dis- 
play. And  then  the  roar  and  rumbling  gradually 
ceased,  and  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  me  to  describe 
the  scene  it  was  at  an  end,  and,  after  a  few  parting  ech- 
oes in  the  distance,  stillness  that  was  oppressive  once 
more  prevailed. 

But,  as  it  was  now  eleven  o'clock,  and  we  were  to 
start  soon  after  midnight,  no  one  made  any  farther  at- 
tempt to  go  to  sleep.  One  of  the  guides  lit  a  bit  of 
fire,  and  on  a  couple  of  sticks  he  grilled  a  cold  chicken 
for  my  companion  and  me,  the  guides  making  a  hearty 
supper  of  cold  beef.  It  was  a  weird,  unearthly  scene 
as  we  sat  on  the  bare  boards,  usin<?  our  finders  in  the 
place  of  knives  and  forks,  by  the  dim  light  of  one  soli- 
tary tallow-candle.     One  could  almost  fancy  us  a  party 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  433 

of  smugglers  taking  their  supper  in  a  cave,  after  Laving 
safely  disposed  of  their  cargo. 

Presently  Coutet,  who  had  been  down  on  to  the 
slopes  to  try  the  snow  and  had  insisted  on  our  remov- 
ing all  our  wraps,  approached  us  with  a  box  of  mutton- 
fat,  with  which  very  unpleasing  unguent  he  carefully 
anointed  our  faces,  necks,  hands,  arms,  and  legs,  as  a  pro- 
tection against  the  extreme  cold.  And  then,  once  more 
donning  our  wraps  and  fortifying  ourselves  with  a  small 
glass  of  cognac,  we  seized  our  alpenstocks  and  care- 
fully picked  our  way  down  the  rock  on  to  the  snow,  all 
roped  together  at  distances  of  about  fifteen  feet  apart 
and  looking  like  a  file  of  eight  midnight  ghosts. 

I  doubt  if  one  man  in  a  hundred  has  sufficient  phys- 
ical strength  and  power  of  endurance  to  carry  him  to 
the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  I  doubt  if  one  in  a  thou- 
sand would  attempt  it,  if  the  danger  and  suffering 
which  must  be  encountered  in  getting  there  could  be 
thoroughly  known  and  appreciated  before  determining 
on  making  the  effort.  Candor  compels  me  to  place  my- 
self among  the  ignominious  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine.  I  have  stood  on  the  top  of  Mont  Blanc ;  but  it 
was  sheer  vanity  that  compelled  my  faltering  limbs -to 
drag  my  weary  body  to  the  journey's  end — the  dread 
of  being  laughed  at  if  I  turned  back.  Could  I  have  re- 
traced  my  steps  without  the  risk  of  derision,  I  should 
certainly  have  done  so  long  before  we  got  near  the 
summit ;  but  that  devil,  false  pride,  urged  me  on,  and 
somehow  or  other  I  managed  to  complete  the  ascent. 


434  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

Could  I  have  foreseen  what  we  should  have  to  go 
through,  no  inducements  would  have  persuaded  me  to 
make  the  attempt.  Rothschild  himself  could  not  draw 
a  check  large  enough  to  induce  me  to  repeat  it. 

I  knew,  from  what  I  had  heard  and  read,  that  the 
latter  part  of  the  ascent  was  no  child's  play,  no  ordi- 
nary mountain  ramble ;  but,  as  we  buckled  on  our 
armor  in  the  shape  of  wraps,  veils,  and  leggings,  I  felt 
like  a  general  who  feels  confident  that  he  can  plant  his 
flag  on  the  fortress  he  is  about  to  storm,  while  acknowl- 
edging to  himself  that  there  will  be  some  hard  and  se- 
vere hVhtino;  to  be  done  first.  I  had  no  notion  that  the 
battle  would  be  so  bloody  a  one  and  that  my  own  forces 
would  be  so  terribly  cut  up  and  crippled,  as  they  event- 
ually were,  in  the  fight. 

The  first  part  of  the  ascent  from  the  Grands  Mulets 
to  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  consists  in  climbing  enor- 
mous terraces  of  ice  and  traveling  across  great  plateaus 
of  snow,  which  rise  one  above  the  other.  On  leaving 
the  Grands  Mulets  rocks,  we  struck  a  diagonal  course 
for  the  base  of  the  Dome  clu  Goute,  at  the  extreme  right 
of  the  Mont  Blanc  group.  Slowly  and  patiently  we 
ploughed  our  way  through  the  soft  snow,  often  sinking 
up  to  the  waist,  now  making  a  detour  in  order  to  avoid 
some  impassable  crevasse,  and  then  laboriously  cutting 
our  way  with  ice-axes  up  some  solid  wall  of  ice  to  the 
terrace  above.  Every  thing  was  business-like  to  a  de- 
gree. Our  steps  were  slowly  and  regularly  taken,  and 
always  in  the  foot-marks  of  our  head  guides,  Coutet  and 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  .    435 

Tissay,  who  led  tlie  way,  as  being  more  likely  to  be 
safe  and  firm  footing.  Even  Tissay 's  poodle-dog  Bou- 
quet was  quiet  for  the  first  time  since  we  left  the  val- 
ley the  morning  before.  He  trotted  along  staidly  and 
solemnly,  as  though  he  fully  comprehended  the  sit- 
uation and  knew  the  necessity  of  reserving  all  his 
strength. 

The  full  moon  shone  out  bright  and  clear,  illumi- 
nating the  Dome  du  Goute,  under  whose  great  snow- 
cliff  we  were  carefully  picking  our  way,  but  giving  an 
unearthly,  ghastly  appearance  to  every  thing  around, 
and  making  us  look  like  a  file  of  midnight  ghosts,  so 
bright  was  the  moonlight.  And  so  powerful  was  the 
light  reflected  from  the  white  snow  that  it  was  difficult 
to  believe  that  it  was  actually  night. 

For  nearly  three  hours  we  silently  crept  up  these 
lower  terraces  of  ice  and  slopes  of  snow  before  we 
reached  the  uppermost  one,  known  as  the  Grand  Pla- 
teau— a  wide  expanse  of  snow,  stretching  away  like 
some  great  prairie  and,  I  should  judge,  at  least  three 
miles  across.  So  far  our  work  had  not  been  excessive- 
ly laborious ;  nor  was  it  at  all  dangerous,  save  when  we 
had  to  cut  zigzag  steps  in  some  cliff  of  ice,  or  to  crawl 
along  the  extreme  edge  of  a  crevasse,  fearful  to  look 
into  in  its  semi-obscurity,  but  whose  yawning  chasm 
we  should  have  quitted  for  still  greater  danger. 

But,  once  on  the  Grand  Plateau,  our  position  be- 
came more  perilous.  I  certainly  think  the  Grand  Pla- 
teau is  one  of  the  most  trying  portions  of  the  ascent — 


136  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

not  on  the  body,  but  on  the  mind.  The  tension  on  the 
brain  from  anxiety  while  we  were  crossing  it  was  some- 
thing terrific.  Avalanches  of  ice,  rock,  snow,  and 
debris,  weighing  thousands  of  tons,  fall  here,  day  and 
night,  and  stream  over  the  path  of  the  unlucky  moun- 
taineer. Here  it  was  that  Dr.  Hamel's  party  were 
overwhelmed.  Here  it  was  that  poor  Balmat,  Carrier, 
and  Tairraz,  the  best  and  bravest  of  the  Chamounix 
guides,  perished.  Here  it  was  that  Captain  Williams 
and  his  two  guides  were  lost.  Here  it  was  that,  only 
two  years  ago,  a  party  of  eleven  human  beings,  includ- 
ing two  Americans,  were  suddenly  swept  into  eternity 
by  an  avalanche.  Here  it  is  that  a  puff  of  wind,  the 
falling  of  a  small  piece  of  rock,  or  a  distant  thunder- 
clap, may,  at  any  moment,  loosen  one  of  these  overhang- 
ins:  cornices  of  ice  and  snow  and  send  it  thundering 
over  the  Plateau  like  an  overwhelming  torrent  sud- 
denly let  loose.  So  great  is  the  weight  of  these  masses 
and  so  slight  is  the  connection  between  them  and  the 
ridges  to  which  they  cling,  that  Coutet  absolutely  for- 
bade any  one  to  call  out,  for  fear  that  even  that  slight 
sound  might  produce  a  reverberating  echo  and  start  one. 
In  crossing  the  Grand  Plateau,  its  nearly  level  sur- 
face is  certainly  an  immense  relief  to  the  strained  sinews 
and  muscles  of  the  body,  but  I  doubt  whether  the  re- 
lief compensates  for  the  ever-present  thought  of  its  fear- 
ful dangers.  Nerve,  a  steady  head,  and  a  strong  pair 
of  legs,  will  carry  a  man  round  narrow,  overhanging 
ledges  of  ice,  or  up  and  down  the  steps  of  a  crevasse ; 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT   BLANC.  437 

but  this  running  the  gauntlet  of  these  constantly-falling 
avalanches  is  really  a  race  with  death  for  the  two  long, 
mortal  hours  which  are  spent  in  crossing  the  Plateau. 
Both  Coutet  and  Tissay  continually  cast  quick,  nervous, 
anxious  glances  at  the  overhanging  ridges  above  us. 
We  had  had  to  make  one  detour  to  avoid  the  debris 
of  an  avalanche  which  had  streamed  over  our  path  ; 
and  we  could,  every  now  and  then,  hear  the  ice  cornices 
give  a  sharp,  ringing  crack,  which  sounded  ominously 
in  our  ears,  causing  us  all  to  give  an  involuntary  start 
and  hurry  wildly  forward  for  a  few  steps. 

We  were  about  three-quarters  of  the  way  across  the 
Plateau  when,  though  as  wide  awake  as  ever  I  was  in 
my  life  and  thoroughly  aware  of  our  danger,  I  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  the  fact  that  I  had  been  walking  for 
some  minutes  with  my  eyes  closed.  I  mentioned  this 
to  Coutet,  who  replied  that  the  rarefaction  of  the  atmos- 
phere was  beginning  to  tell  a  little  on  my  system. 

"  As  soon  as  we  reach  those  rocks,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  a  group  of  rocks  a  little  ahead,  "  I  will  call  a 
halt  for  two  or  three  minutes  and  give  you  a  glass  of 
wine  each,  provided  you  promise  me  not  to  lie  down." 

All  this  while  the  day  had  been  gradually  break- 
ing, and  it  was  most  strange  to  mark  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  light  of  the  moon  and  that  of  the  dawning 
day  and  to  see  large  peaks  and  aiguilles  looming  up, 
like  giant  spectres,  in  all  directions.  The  atmosphere, 
too,  grew  much  colder  toward  sunrise;  so  much  so  that 
one  of  my  fingers  suffered  for  many  months  afterward. 


±38  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

By  the  time  we  had  got  over  the  Plateau,  however,  and 
had  reached  the  Promised  Land — the  group  of  rocks — 
the  sun  had  asserted  its  power,  and  many  a  joke  as  to 
"  Who's  afraid  ? "  passed  around  as  we  drank  our  very 
welcome  glass  of  wine.  But,  Coutet  only  allowed  us 
two  or  three  minutes'  rest  before  he  again  gave  the 
word  "  Allons!"  and  all  our  nerve  and  pluck  were  soon 
called  into  requisition  to  enable  us  to  pass  round  an 
immense  sloping  wall  of  ice,  which,  at  an  angle  of  fifty 
or  sixty  degrees,  hung  like  a  flying  buttress  over  a 
frightful  precipice.  Anxiously  and  with  beating  hearts 
we  watched  Coutet  slowly  make  his  way  along  this  fear- 
ful declivity,  cutting  steps  for  us  as  he  went.  Every 
now  and  then  he  would  stop,  and,  turning  round  and 
looking  coolly  over  the  vast  space  which  lay  thousands 
of  feet  below  him,  he  would  call  our  attention  to  the 
Jardin,  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  other  points  of  interest 
in  the  distance.  It  was  indeed  a  sickening  sight,  the 
the  more  so  as  I  knew  in  a  few  minutes  I  should  be 
standing  on  that  veiy  spot.  Coutet  returned  after  a 
while,  stepping  slowly  and  with  great  care.  But  his 
cautious  movements  told  us  nothing:  new.  It  did  not 
require  a  second  glance  at  that  ice-buttress  to  inform 
ourselves  of  the  danger  and  difficulty  of  passing  round 
it.  On  his  return  Coutet  looked  at  the  ropes,  examined 
the  knots,  said  a  few  encouraging  words  to  us  and  the 
porters,  and  then,  with  a  cheery,  confident  "  Allons  ! 
meets plantez  Men  vos  talons"  he  led  the  way  on  to  the 
treacherous  ice-slope. 


UP   AND   DOWN   MONT    I  SLANT.  439 

But  it  is  just  at  such  moments  that  the  brain  makes 
its  supremest  efforts  and  exerts  its  utmost  power  in  the 
control  and  management  of  the  body.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that,  had  there  been  less  danger,  there  would 
have  been  more  chance  of  accident.  Slowly  we  crept  out 
to  the  elbow  and  then  round  this  overhanging  mountain 
of  ice,  not  a  word  spoken,  our  feet  giving  scarce  a  sound, 
so  cautiously  were  they  planted,  and  when  at  last  we 
reached  a  place  of  safety  we  agreed  that  the  very  ter- 
rors of  the  situation  had  given  us  unnatural  steadiness 
of  head  and  limbs.  And  yet,  so  marvelous  is  the  at- 
mospheric influence  at  that  altitude,  that,  within  three 
minutes  after  undergoing  this  severe  mental  strain,  it 
cost  me  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  feeling  of  drowsi- 
ness. 

From  this  point,  I  may  fairly  say  that  the  remain- 
der of  the  ascent  was  one  continuous  series  of  tussles 
with  exhausted  nature ;  will  and  pluck  defying  fatigue 
and  controlling  our  fast-failing  bodies.  We  struggled 
as  bravely  as  we  could  through  the  snow ;  but  our  steps 
were  more  than  lagging,  our  movements  were  almost 
mechanical. 

But,  in  spite  of  our  weariness,  it  was  impossible 
to  escape  the  contagion  of  the  excitement  of  Coutet 
and  Tissay.  Every  moment  their  splendid  qualities 
as  guides  forced  themselves  on  our  notice.  Exhibit- 
ing, as  they  did,  unmistakable  signs  of  the  work 
they  had  done — a  broad  purple  line  under  each  eye, 
their  pupils  intensely  dilated,  and  a   decided  quiver 


440  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

of  the  nostrils  now  and  again  ineffectually  concealed — 
they 'would,  nevertheless,  at  times,  exclaim,  "  Courage, 
messieurs!"  "Voyons  done!"  And  then  they  would 
start  off  with  a  bound  and  run  for  several  yards  on  the 
snow,  till  a  soft  patch  would  give  with  them  and  they 
would  sink  in  up  to  their  waists,  laughing  and  joking 
in  spite  of  their  panting  breath"  and  beating  hearts  and 
berating  themselves  for  their  awkwardness  when  we 
came  up  with  them ;  Tissay  declaring  that  if  he  lived  to 
be  a  thousand  years  old  he  should  never  be  any  good 
over  soft  snow. 

But  they  were  fresh  as  larks  compared  to  us.  A 
horrible  feeling  of  recklessness  as  to  consequences  had 
been  gradually  stealing  over  me,  attended  with  a  most 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  pressure  in  the  head,  spitting 
of  blood,  bleeding  at  the  nose,  and  an  increase  of  the 
palpitation  of  the  heart.  More  than  once  did  my  com- 
panion beg  Tissay  to  let  him  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep, 
"  if  only  for  five  minutes,"  Ire  said.  I  felt,  in  the  hands 
of  Coutet,  very  much  like  some  unhappy  little  child 
who  has  been  abducted  by  an  ugly  old  gypsy,  and  who 
feels  that  it  must  do  exactly  what  the  ugly  old  gypsy 
tells  it  to  do.  In  such  a  sorry  plight  we  reached  the 
base  of  an  apparently  perpendicular  wall  of  ice,  four 
hundred  or  five  hundred  feet  high  and  with  no  way  of 
getting  round  it. 

An  American  who  ascended  Mont  Blanc,  five  or 
six  years  ago,  taking  with  him  a  few  scientific  instru- 
ments, tells  me  that  he  found  the  inclination  of  this 


UP  AND  DOWN   MONT  BLANC.  .±±1 

wall  of  ice  to  be  just  that  of  the  spire  of  Trinity  Church 
in  New  York. 

Coutet  called  a  halt,  and  we  threw  ourselves  on  the 
snow  as  he  and  Tissay  went  forward  to  reconnoitre. 

A  minute  later  my  companion  was  sound  asleep.  I 
suppose  I  immediately  followed  suit,  for  I  was  aroused 
by  being  roughly  shaken  by  Coutet,  who  rated  us  sound- 
ly for  going  to  sleep  the  moment  his  back  was  turned 
and  said  he  was  ready  to  start. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  before  we  tackle  the  Mur  de 
la  Cote,  I  think  you  had  both  better  have  a  little 
cognac." 

"  Is  that  the  Mur  de  la  Cote  ?  "  I  cried,  casting  a 
sickened,  almost  terrified  glance,  at  the  towering,  frown- 
ing ice  cliff  before  us,  as  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

I  think  I  at  once  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  not  so  much 
from  lack  of  courage,  but  because  I  distrusted  my  ex- 
hausted system  and  trembling  knees.  I  have  an  indis- 
tinct recollection  of  giving  detailed  instructions  to  Cou- 
tet as  to  how  he  should  break  the  news  of  my  death  to 
my  wife  and  of  making  him  promise  to  recover  my  body, 
if  possible,  and  see  that  it  was  sent  home  for  burial. 
He,  of  course,  readily  gave  his  word,  though  he  laughed 
heartily  at  my  fears,  and  I  was  once  more  quiescent.  I 
cannot  tell  why  it  was  so,  but,  convinced  as  I  was  that 
certain  death  was  lurking  for  me  on  that  ice- wall,  it 
never  occurred  to  me  to  insist  on  going  back. 

But  Coutet  carefully  measured  out  for  each  of  us 
about  a  quarter  of  a  wine-glass  of  cognac,  and  its  effect 


442  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

on  roe  was  magical.  Coutet  had  very  wisely  kept  this 
as  a  reserve,  having  previously  refused  to  give  us  any 
more  stimulant  than  that  one  glass  of  vin  ordinaire 
at  the  rocks.  For  the  next  twenty  minutes  or  so  I 
really  felt  like  a  giant  refreshed  with  wine.  My  steps 
were  firmer  and  surer  than  they  had  been  for  two  hours 
past.  In  fact,  Coutet  seemed  to  have  given  me  the 
elixir  vitce  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  Not  so,  however, 
with  my  companion.  His  system  was  so  disorganized 
from  constant  retching — for  he  had  long  ceased  to  vomit 
— that  he  could  not  retain  the  brandy,  and  he  suffered 
more  during  the  three-quarters  of  an  hour  that  we  spent 
in  ascending  the  Mur  de  la  Cote  than  he  did  in  the  final 
struggle.  Nearly  all  of  us  suffered  more  or  less  from 
vomiting.     Even  Coutet  himself  gave  way  once. 

Every  step  we  took  up  the  icy  Mur  had  to  be  cut 
with  the  ice-axe,  our  course  bein^  a  regular  ziirzasr  of  ten 
or  fifteen  steps  in  either  direction.  The  rope  by  which 
we  were  all  tied  together  was  worse  than  useless  on  so 
steep  an  ascent ;  for  if  one  of  us  had  slipped  the  others 
could  not  possibly  have  had  sufficiently  firm  footing  on 
the  glittering  ice  to  sustain  the  weight  of  his  falling 
body.  All  must  inevitably  have  been  dashed  to  pieces 
together.  I  pointed  this  out  to  Coutet  before  we  began 
the  ascent  and  suggested  that  we  should  be  cut  loose, 
so  that  the  lives  of  all  might  not  be  imperilled  in  conse- 
quence of  the  false  step  of  one.  He,  however,  refused 
to  listen  to  any  such  proposal,  remarking  that  the  rope 
would  give  such  a  feeling  of  confidence  to  all  as  would, 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  443 

he  trusted,  prevent  any  accident.  I  saw  at  once  the 
soundness  of  his  reasoning,  and  we  started  without  fur- 
ther demur.  Step  by  step  we  crawled  up  that  wall  of 
ice,  clinging  like  flies  to  its  shining  surface,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  for  a  moment's  rest  or  when  some 
more  than  ordinarily  difficult  step  had  to  be  taken,  and 
wondering,  when  we  at  last  reached  the  top,  how  on 
earth  we  ever  managed  to  sret  there. 

Down  we  dropped  at  once,  my  heart  thumping 
against  my  ribs  as  though  it  were  training  itself  for  a 
drummer-boy.  But,  though  the  terrible  Mur  was  sur- 
mounted, there  was  still  the  Calotte — the  actual  sum- 
mit of  Mont  Blanc — before  us ;  and,  after  allowing  us 
to  lie  on  the  snow  for  a  minute  or  two,  Coutet  again 
gave  the  word  to  go  on.  We  were  both  now  in  a  pitia- 
ble state  of  exhaustion,  and  two  of  our  guides,  who 
were  making  the  ascent  for  the  first  time,  were  in  very 
little  better  condition. 

Again  Coutet  and  Tissay  plied  their  ice-axes.  Again 
and  again,  for  several  seconds  together,  I  entirely  lost 
my  senses,  only  recovering  them  to  find  Coutet  dabbing 
brandy  on  my  lips,  nostrils,  and  eyelids  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Every  dozen  steps  we  begged  piteously 
for  a  minute's  rest,  in  order  to  recover  a  little  from  the 
painful  sensations  in  brain,  lungs,  and  heart,  which 
were  bearing  us  down.  About  thirty  seconds  at  a  time 
was  all  Coutet  would  allow  us.  Often,  in  the  succeed- 
ing quarter  of  an  hour,  I  could  feel  Coutet's  iron  grasp, 
as  he  nearly  tore  lumps  of  flesh  from  my  back   and 


444  THE   AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

arms  in  order  to  rouse  ine.  And  all  this  while  those 
merciless  words :  "  Courage,  Messieurs !  Plantez  lien 
vos  talons"  rang  in  our  ears  like  the  cry  of  some  Span- 
ish mule-driver  goading  on  his  uufortunate  team.  And 
then  I  can  still  remember  Coutet's  hissing  ejaculation  as 
he  grasped  me  round  the  body :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  si  vous 
chancelez  de  cette  maniere  nous  allons  tons  etre  perdus? 
I  gathered  myself  together  in  an  instant,  made  two  or 
three  more  desperate  struggles,  and  fell  senseless  on  the 
snow. 

How  long"  I  remained  unconscious  I  do  not  know, 
but,  when  I  recovered  a  little,  I  found  Coutet  kneeling 
by  my  side  pouring  brandy  down  my  throat.  I  thought 
I  had  been  asleep  again,  and  expected  a  terrible  wig- 
ging from  him.  But,  to  my  astonishment,  he  said  noth- 
ing. He  did  not  shake  us  violently,  as  he  had  previous- 
ly done,  nor  did  he  even  chide  us  with  angry  gesticula- 
tions for  our  recklessness  in  lying  so  long  upon  the  snow 
when  there  was  still  so  much  hard  work  to  be  done. 
Half  unconscious,  not  knowing  where  we  were  or  what 
was  going  on,  little  dreaming  of  the  accomplishment 
of  our  perilous  journey,  we  lay  as  lifeless  as  the  ice 
and  snow  which  surrounded  us,  too  much  exhausted  as 
yet  to  recognize  the  fact  that  we  were  at  last  on  the 
top  of  Mont  Blanc  ! 

I  can  hardly  conceive  two  more  miserable-looking 
and  miserable-feeling  specimens  of  humanity  than  we 
were  for  the  first  ten  minutes  of  our  sojourn  on  the 
summit ;  but,  as  the  beating  of  our  hearts  against  our 


UP  AND   DOWN   MONT   BLANC.  445 

ribs  gradually  died  away  and  we  were  able  to  sit  up 
and  drink  the  best  part  of  a  tumbler  of  wine  apiece, 
we  found  that  excitement  had  by  no  means  died  out — 
that  it  was  still  smouldering  and  ready  to  burst  out 
again  as  soon  as  exhausted  nature  should  give  it  a 
chance.  My  friend  was  the  first  to  make  a  move,  and 
the  Anglo-Saxon  spirit  was  not  likely  to  let  me  be  long 
in  following  his  example.  At  first,  when  I  stood  up,  I 
staggered  a  little  and  experienced  all  the  sensations  of 
having  been  mercilessly  beaten.  But  a  second  glass  of 
wine  soon  pulled  me  together,  and,  ere  long,  I  was  quiet- 
ly lighting  a  pipe,  while  Tissay  pointed  out  to  me  the 
different  ranges  of  mountains  which  surrounded  us. 

In  one  respect  the  view  from  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc  is  unsurpassed — the  extensive  tract  of  country 
over  which  the  eye  ranges.  But  there  is  this  great 
drawback — that  the  elevation  is  so  great  that  the  details 
of  the  lower  elevation  of  the  panorama  are  lost  to  a  con- 
siderable extent.  Still,  it  is  an  extraordinary  prospect. 
The  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  commands  a  view  com- 
prised in  a  circle  of  some  twelve  hundred  miles.  The 
actual  range  of  sight,  though  interrupted  by  the  differ- 
ent mountain-ranges,  embraces  nearly  all  Sardinia,  the 
western  half  of  Switzerland,  one-third  of  Lombard  y, 
and  a  small  corner  of  France.  To  the  northeast  rise 
the  Bernese  Alps,  with  the  snowy  peaks  of  the  Eiger, 
the  Monk,  the  Jungfrau,  the  Finster-Aarhorn,  and  the 
Silberhorn.  In  front,  the  valley  of  Chamounix  lying 
peacefully  under  the  Brevent.     On  either  side,  in  the 


4:4:6  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

distance,  the  chains  of  the  Jura  and  the  Bernese  Alps. 
To  the  east,  the  gaunt  Matterhorn,  looking  like  the 
solitary  remaining  pinnacle  of  some  ruined  mammoth 
cathedral ;  and  fifty  or  sixty  miles  distant,  in  the  same 
direction,  lies  Monte  Rosa,  the  rival  of  Mont  Blanc. 
To  the  south,  the  Little  St.  Bernard,  the  Cenis  Pass,  and 
the  Maritime  Alps ;  and  to  the  southeast,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  away,  the  range  of  the  Apennines,  stretch- 
ing down  sunny  Italy.  I  have  myself  seen  Mont  Blanc 
with  the  naked  eye  from  the  roof  of  Milan  Cathedral, 
which,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  is  distant  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles.  But,  in  spite  of  this  extraordinary 
extent  of  view,  I  am  constrained  to  say  that  I  think  the 
view  from  the  Grands  Mulets  is  finer,  for  the  reason 
I  have  already  given,  that  it  is  more  detailed. 

While  studying  with  Tissay  this  wonderful  scene, 
Coutet  called  out  that  dinner  was  ready.  One  of  the 
porters  had  carried  up  a  couple  of  cold  chickens  and 
some  rolls,  but  to  our  demoralized  systems  an  invita- 
tion to  eat  was  a  perfect  insult.  Nor  did  the  guides 
themselves  seem  to  be  much  inclined  for  dinner,  for 
none  of  them  touched  a  piece  of  bread  ;  and,  although 
there  were  only  two  chickens  among  eight  of  us,  I 
think  we  must  have  left  nearly  a  whole  one  behind. 
Even  the  dog  Bouquet  seemed  to  have  no  appetite. 
The  acidity  of  the  vin  ordinaire,  however,  was  particu- 
larly refreshing  and,  acceptable  and  appeared  to  have 
no  more  effect  upon  us  than  so  much  water.  All  soon 
voted  dinner  a  bore,  and  no  sooner  was  that  resolution 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  447 

proposed  and  carried  unanimously  than  eight  pipes  were 
busy  blowing  clouds  of  tobacco  into  what  seemed  to  us 
to  be  the  very  Heavens  themselves.  We  had  carried 
the  great  giant's  stronghold  and  were  disposed  to. enjoy 
our  victory  after  our  own  fashion.  Unless  they  allow 
smoking  in  Paradise,  I  shall  never  again  smoke  the  calu- 
met of  peace  on  so  elevated  a  spot,  for  I  have  certainly 
done  with  storming  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.1 

But  it  was  high  time  for  us  to  think  of  getting 
down,  if  we  wished  to  reach  Chamounix  that  night. 
So,  after  filling  a  parting  glass  of  wine  and  drinking 
to  the  honor  of  our  country  and  amusing  ourselves  by 

1  A  late  number  of  the  Journal  of  Applied  Chemistry  gives  the  follow- 
ing as  the  latest  results  of  the  experiments  of  Bert  on  the  effect  of  baro- 
metric pressure  on  the  phenomena  of  life  : 

1.  When  the  pressure  is  diminished,  the  quantity  of  gas  in  the  blood 
also  becomes  less.  Hence,  where  a  person  ascends  in  a  balloon,  or  climbs 
a  mountain,  he  has  always  less  oxygen  to  keep  up  his  bodily  strength  and 
warmth.  This  explains  why  a  person  ascending  a  mountain  must  fre- 
quently stop,  and  why  he  cannot  go  above  a  certain  height  without  being 
threatened  with  asphyxia. 

2.  The  diminution  of  the  percentage  of  oxygen  when  the  pressure  is 
reduced  eight  inches,  becomes  perceptible,  i.  e.,  under  conditions  which 
nearly  aproach  those  under  which  millions  of  people  live,  especially  those 
inhabiting  the  Mexican  plateau  of  Anahuac.  These  people  are  continually 
subject  to  a  condition  of  insufficient  oxygenation,  to  which  may  be  traced 
their  poverty  of  blood.  They  are,  to  use  Jourdanet's  expression,  deoxi- 
dized. 

3.  In  most  cases  the  oxygen  in  the  blood  diminishes  more  rapidly  than 
the  carbonic  acid ;  but  here  there  are  variations  in  different  animal-, 
which  is  probably  also  the  case  with  men.  This  explains  why  some  men 
can  endure  removal  of  pressure  almost  without  inconvenience,  while 
others  get  sick  and  incapable  of  doing  any  work.  For  example,  the  loss 
of  oxygen  corresponding  to  a  pressure  of  thirty-six  centimetres,  which, 
according  to  Boussingault,  is  the  extreme  limit  for  mountain-climbers.  is 
thirty-six,  thirty-eight,  forty-two,  to  fifty-six  per  cent.  The  carbonic  acid 
shows  still  greater  variation. 


448  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

sending  the  empty  bottle  flying  like  lightning  down 
the  steep  slope  of  frozen  snow,  we  knocked  the  ashes 
oufc  of  our  pipes  and  were  soon  carefully  wending  our 
way  down  the  Calotte  to  the  Mur  de  la  Cote. 

If  crawling  up  ice-walls  is  a  dangerous,  acrobatic 
feat,  crawling  down  them,  when  knees  are  trembling 
and  one  has  to  face  the  giddy  precipice,  is  a  matter  of 
infinitely  greater  difficulty  and  danger.  As  we  de- 
scended the  precipitous  side  of  the  Mur,  I  expected 
every  minute  to  go  dashing  headlong  after  the  pieces 
of  the  unfortunate  wine-bottle ;  a  fate  from  which  Cou- 
tet's  strong  arm  and  an  extraordinary  mental  effort 
alone  saved  me. 

And  we  began  to  suffer,  too,  in  another  and  most 
strange  way.  Although  the  air  was  at* times  piercingly 
cold,  so  much  so  that  I  got  a  toucli  of  frost-bite  in  my 
right  knee,  the  rays  of  the  sun  poured  down  upon  us 
with  an  intensity  which  was  most  painful,  and,  when 
we  reached  the  soft  snow  at  the  bottom  of  the  Mur,  we 
were  glad  to  pile  cakes  of  it  on  our  hats  in  order  to 
keep  off  the  rays  of  the  sun ;  while  at  the  same  time  we 
rubbed  our  hands  and  wrists  with  snow  to  instil  a 
little  warmth  into  them. 

Hurrying  on  again,  we  made  our  way,  as  rapidly  as 
we  could,  back  to  the  Grand  Plateau ;  for  the  power  of 
the  sun  rendered  the  falling  of  avalanches  a  matter  of 
certainty  later  in  the  day. 

It  was  while  coming  down  a  slope  of  ice  on  to  the 
Plateau  that  one-half  of  our  party  met  with  an  accident 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  449 

wliicli  well-nigli  proved  fatal.  This  slope  was  in  shape 
very  much  like  a  quarter  of  an  orange,  and  the  steps 
which  we  had  cut  in  it  being  only  large  enough  to  take 
the  heel  of  the  boot,  the  danger  of  slipping  was,  of  course, 
very  great.  We  were  at  the  moment  roped  in  two  par- 
ties ;  mine  being  some  distance  in  advance.  Our  party 
got  down  safely,  but  my  fellow-mountaineer  slipped 
when  about  three  parts  of  the  way  down  the  slope 
and  shot  in  a  moment  on  to  the  guide  in  front  of  him, 
knocking  him  off  his  legs  and  dragging  the  guide  behind 
also  off  his  feet.  With  the  speed  of  lightning  they  flew 
over  the  icy  surface  into  a  narrow  crevasse  at  the  bottom 
of  the  slope.  But,  fortunately,  they  all  three  fell  in  a 
heap  into  the  snow  which  lay  in  its  mouth,  and,  getting 
all  jumbled  up  together  in  the  snow,  the  leading  guide 
and  my  friend  managed  to  scramble  out,  just  as  the  snow 
fell  through  into  the  crevasse  with  the  remaining  guide. 
But  the  rope  was  good  and  true  and  held  him  up  when 
he  had  sunk  five  or  six  feet,  and  he  was  quickly  hauled 
up  uninjured.  Had  the  slip  occurred  at  the  upper 
instead  of  the  lower  end  of  the  slope,  they  must  all 
have  inevitably  perished,  for  they  would  have  had  time 
to  separate  again,  and  so  would  have  gone  down  singly 
into  the  crevasse.  On  looking  down  into  the  crevasse, 
when  they  were  all  safe,  they  found  that,  though  less 
than  three  feet  wide  at  the  top,  it  opened  out  beneath 
the  surface,  and,  as  far  as  their  eye  could  reach,  was 
bottomless.  It  was  not  until  we  arrived  at  the  other 
end  of  the  Grand  Plateau  that  I  heard  any  thing  of  this 


£50  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

mishap ;  for  it  was  all  over  in  a  few  moments,  and  they 
all  appear  to  have  been  so  paralyzed  with  horror,  while 
rushing  as  they  thought  to  immediate  death,  that  none  of 
them  cried  out.  Had  they  done  so,  we  must  have  heard 
them,  as  we  were  not  more  than  two  hundred  or  three 
hundred  feet  in  advance.  But  we  had  plenty  to  do  to 
look  after  ourselves,  and  perhaps  did  not  look  back  quite 
so  often  as  we  should  have  done.  We  were  once  more  in 
the  spot  where  the  avalanches  deal  such  fearful  havoc, 
and  we  knew  from  the  condition  of  the  surface  of  the 
snow  we  were  traversing  that  we  might  expect  one 
down  upon  us  at  any  moment.  Coutet  and  Tissay  were 
both  momentarily  growing  more  uneasy  and  incessantly 
cast  quick,  nervous,  anxious  glances  at  the  overhanging 
ridges  above  us.  We  had  had  to  make  one  detour  to 
avoid  the  debris  of  an  avalanche  which  had  streamed 
over  the  path  we  had  taken  in  the  early  morning,  and 
we  could  every  now  and  then  hear  these  enormous  ice 
cornices  give  a  sharp,  ringing  crack  which  sounded 
ominously  in  our  ears,  causing  us  all  to  give  an  in 
voluntary  start,  and  hurry  wildly  on  for  a  few  steps. 
Moreover,  Tissay's  pocket-barometer  had  suddenly  taken 
a  sharp  downward  turn,  an  atmospheric  variation  which 
rendered  it  more  than  probable  that  we  should  have  a 
change  of  weather  before  we  could  traverse  the  glacier ; 
at  all  events,  a  variation  which  boded  us  no  good.  We, 
therefore,  pushed  along  as  fast  as  was  consistent  with 
safety ;  and,  as  the  air  became  less  rarefied  and  our 
respiration  correspondingly  improved  every  few  hun- 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  451 

dred  feet  we  descended,  we  were  soon  enabled  to  make 
much  more  way.  To  our  inexpressible  relief,  we  reached 
the  other  end  of  the  Plateau,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Dome  du  Goute,  without  accident,  though  we  could 
hear  the  sound  of  many  a  falling  avalanche,  and  the 
faces  of  our  party  quickly  brightened,  not  only  because 
we  were  more  or  less  out  of  reach  of  avalanches  but  at 
the  prospect  of  enjoying  the  fun  of  glissading  down  the 
slopes  of  snow  which  lie  between  the  great  ice-walls  of 
the  Plateau.  I  have  never  found  any  rapid  motion  so 
exciting  as  sliding  down  these  slopes  of  snow,  but  to 
our  weary  limbs  it  was  particularly  agreeable.  In  the 
course  of  a  minute  or  two  we  made,  in  this  way,  short 
cuts  down  these  snow-slopes  over  an  extent  of  ground 
which  had  taken  us  half  an  hour's  toilsome  zigzagging 
in  the  morning. 

Sitting  down,  one  behind  the  other,  like  a  train  of 
cars,  on  the  ridge  of  a  slope,  we  gradually  edged  our- 
selves over  and  went  flying,  like  Puck — "  faster  than 
arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow,"  to  the  ridge  below ;  steer- 
ing ourselves  in  and  out  the  little  crevasses  with  our 
poles  and  stopping  ourselves  by  the  same  means  when 
we  neared  a  large  one.  On  the  slopes  where  there 
were  no  crevasses  visible,  we  had  a  regular  rough-and- 
tumble  frolic,  tipping  one  another  head  over  heels  with 
our  poles  and  each  one  often  feeling  that  he  had  got 
the  worst  of  it  as  he  shook  the  snow  out  of  his  eyes, 
ears,  mouth,  and  nose,  just  like  a  Newfoundland  dog 
shakes  himself  when  he  comes  out  of  the  water.     The 


i52  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

guides  are  wonderfully  clever  at  glissading  and  can 
easily,  slide  down  on  their  feet  in  a  standing  position, 
steadying  and  guiding  themselves  with  their  poles. 

The  mental  and  bodily  reaction  which  had  set  in  on 
our  leaving  the  Grand  Plateau  and  the  fun  we  had  had 
in  coming  down  the  snow-slopes  made  us  as  wild  as  a 
pack  of  school-boys.  But  we  were  recalled  to  a  more 
proper  appreciation  of  our  situation  by  Tissay's  losing 
his  pole  through  a  thin  snow-bridge  which  covered  a  hid- 
den crevasse.  With  a  bound  he  leaped  from  the  treach- 
erous arch.  Had  he  remained  on  it  for  one  instant,  he 
would  ha\e  followed  his  pole.  The  rest  of  us  got  over 
by  lying  at  full  length  on  our  chests  and  crawling  over, 
so  as  to  divide  the  weight  of  our  bodies  as  much  as 
possible. 

This  escapade  of  Tissay's  sobered  us  in  a  moment,  and 
the  remainder  of  our  descent  to  the  Grands  Mulets  was 
orderly  and  business-like.  The  ascent  of  the  broken  sur- 
face of  rock  up  to  the  little  hut  on  the  top  seemed  mere 
child's-play  after  cutting  our  way  up  that  dreadful  Mur 
de  la  Cote,  and  we  were  soon  heartily  enjoying  the  soft- 
ness of  its  pine-boarded  floor.  One  of  the  guides  quick- 
ly laid  out  the  remainder  of  our  stock  of  provisions 
which  we  had  left  behind  us  the  previous  night,  but  we 
were  not  yet  in  a  condition  to  be  able  to  swallow  food. 
The  guides  themselves  exhibited  a  daintiness  of  appetite 
after  their  severe  exertions  which  was  not  a  little  surpris- 
ing in  these  hardy  mountaineers,  considering  that  they 
had  not  eaten  any  food  to  speak  of  for  fifteen  hours  ;  and 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT  BLANC.  4  58 

even  poor  Bouquet,  the  dog,  left  two-thirds  of  the  food 
that  was  given  to  him.  The  guides  would  pick  a 
chicken-bone  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then,  declaring 
it  was  tough,  would  throw  it  away.  Roasted  beef  and 
cold  ham,  delicacies  which  would  ordinarily  make  their 
mouths  water,  did  not  even  receive  a  casual  glance. 
Before  long  they,  one  and  all,  followed  our  example 
and  stretched  themselves  out  for  an  hour's  rest. 

But  Coutet  and  Tissay  grudged  us  even  that  short 
interval  of  repose,  and  they  soon  called  us  out  on  to 
the  platform.      We   were   naturally  loath  to  quit  so 
glorious  a  scene  and  continue  our  descent,  and  again 
and  again  we  pleaded  for  a  few  minutes'  more  rest,  as 
an  excuse  for  a  few  minutes'  more  enjoyment  of  a  unique 
delight  which  I,  for  one,  felt  I  should  never  again  ex- 
perience.    But  Coutet  continually  looked  at  his  watch 
and  reminded  us  that  his  pocket-barometer  had  taken 
a  downward  turn  while   we  were  coming  along  the 
Grand  Plateau.     As  he  sat  there,  Tissay  lolling  at  his 
feet  and  our  four  porters  lying  around,  our  little  party 
of  eight  made  a  picturesque  groupe,  in  sj)ite  of  the 
grotesqueness  of  our  costumes :  Coutet  with  his  mas 
sive  frame  and  strength,  and  Tissay  of  slighter  but  won 
derfully  wiry  build  (he  had  that  day  made  his  seven 
teenth  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc),  one  toying  with  his  ice 
axe,  the  other  playing  with  his  poodle-dog,  Bouquet 
looking   the   very   perfection   of  hardy  mountaineers 
Again  Coutet  looked  at  his  watch.    Again  he  consulted 
his  pocket-barometer ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  uttered  a  cry 


454:  THE  AMATEUR   VAGABOND. 

which  caused  us  all  to  spring  to  our  feet.  It  was  fall- 
ing rapidly,  a  sure  sign,  in  spite  of  the  glorious  sun- 
shine and  cloudless  sky,  of  a  rapidly-approaching  storm. 
It  was  a  warning  we  dared  not  neglect  for  a  moment, 
and  we  were  soon  picking  our  way  down  the  Grands 
Mulets  rocks  on  to  the  glacier. 

For  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  stiffness,  which  had 
supervened  from  lying  down  to  rest  ourselves  after  our 
arduous  and  difficult  journey,  was  most  painful.  Every 
muscle  in  our  "bodies  seemed  to  be  suddenly  cramped 
and  the  joints  of  our  limbs  almost  grated  in  their  sock- 
ets. But  the  necessity  of  springing  across  small  cre- 
vasses, cutting  our  way  down  one  side  and  up  the  other 
of  some  of  the  larger  ones,  and  climbing  over  huge 
bowlders  and  masses  of  ice,  gradually  wore  off  the  stiff- 
ness and  we  were  comparatively  fresh  again.  But  the 
ice  was  nothing  like  so  hard  and  steel-like  as  it  had 
been  when  we  crossed  the  glacier  the  day  before  and, 
consequently,  did  not  offer  so  firm  a  footing.  After  a 
while  it  became  greasy,  a  fact  which  made  Coutet  scan 
the  horizon  from  time  to  time  and  indulge  in  expres- 
sions which  would  have  horrified  a  pilgrim  father  and 
of  which  he  doubtless  made  full  confession  to  the  vil- 
lage cure  on  the  following  Friday.  The  farther  we  got 
on  to  the  glacier  the  worse  it  became,  till  in  many 
places  our  track  of  the  day  before  was  entirely  oblit- 
erated and  we  were  in  danger  of  losing  our  way.  Our 
progress  was,  therefore,  very  slow,  as  we  were  obliged 
to  move  cautiously,  not  wishing  to  have  to  retrace  our 


UP  AND   DOWN"  MONT   BLAN<  .  .[;,;, 

steps.  My  companion  and  I  were  roped  in  between 
the  four  porters ;  but  Coutet  and  Tissay  were  free,  in 
order  to  allow  them  to  go  forward  and  prospect,  and 
cut  steps  in  the  ice.  Coutet,  who  had  charge  of  the  ex- 
pedition, here  showed  what  a  splendid  guide  he  was. 
He  was  ever  busy  with  his  eye,  and  all  the  time  en- 
couraging us  with  his  cheery,  sonorous  voice.  Occa- 
sionally calling  a  halt,  he  would  spring,  sure-footed  as 
a  chamois,  from  -mass  to  mass  of  ice,  or  walk  uncon- 
cerned along  narrow,  slippery  ledges,  or  cling  like  a  cat 
to  rough  bowlders  while  he  cut  a  few  steps  to  enable 
him  to  reach  some  elevated  spot  from  which  he  thought 
he  might  be  able  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  route 
most  advisable  for  us  to  take.  And  then  he  would 
come  back  to  us,  his  eye  glistening  with  triumph  at 
finding  that  his  sagacity  was  not  at  fault ;  and,  calling 
out,  "  Allons,  messieurs  ;  mais  plantez  lien  vos  talons? , 
he  would  again  lead  the  way  on  our  increasingly  dan- 
gerous march.  But  it  was  terrible  work.  The  ice  had 
by  this  time  become  absolutely  wet  and  sloppy.  In 
many  places,  too,  snow-bridges  and  blocks  of  ice  had 
fallen  into  the  crevasses  which  they  would  have  en- 
abled us  to  pass  over  in  safety.  All  these  difficulties 
compelled  us  to  make  considerable  detours  to  get  into 
the  right  track  again,  and  involved  a  serious  loss  of 
time,  as  we  could  easily  tell  by  the  many  sacres  Coutet 
gave  vent  to  whenever  his  barometer  came  out  of  his 
pocket.  It  was  still  falling  rapidly  and  was  evidently 
causing  both  Coutet  and  Tissay  the  gravest   anxiety. 


456  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

The  only  one  of  the  party  who  seemed  at  all  at  his  ease 
was  the  dog  Bouquet.  He  jogged  along  as  unconcern- 
edly as  possible,  ever  wagging  his  stumpy  tail  and 
barking  joyously  when  he  jumped  the  crevasses. 

But  these  trials  and  troubles  were  trifling  com- 
pared with  what  awaited  us  farther  on.  We  began 
to  slip  and  be  a  little  unsteady  on  our  legs  from  the 
great  strain  on  the  muscles  and  tendons.  Again  I 
heard  Coutet's  hissing  whisper  in  my  ear  as  he  clutched 
me  round  the  body  while  crossing  a  narrow  edge  of 
ice :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  Si  vous  chancelez  de  cette  maniere, 
nous  alhns  tous  etre  perdus  !  "  And  then  he  laughed 
a  great  hearty  laugh,  and  crying  out :  "  Courage,  mes- 
sieurs ! — un  peu  plus  de  courage"  hurried  us  on. 

But  suddenly  we  all  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Every  face 
was  blanched.  There,  coming  round  a  high  wall  of  ice, 
we  saw,  to  our  horror  and  amazement,  a  thin,  vapory 
cloud  scudding  across  the  glacier  toward  us  and  cover- 
ing our  route.  With  a  cry  of  despair,  Coutet  called  a 
halt,  and  we  at  once  held  one  of  the  most  anxious  coun- 
cils in  which  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  take  a  part. 
Should  we  push  on,  or  should  we  try  to  get  back  to  the 
Grands  Mulets  ?  It  was  a  question  upon  which  we  had 
to  decide  quickly.  The  storm  could  not  be  far  behind 
the  cloud ;  and  to  be  caught  in  a  storm  on  a  glacier  like 
the  Bossons  meant  death  to  the  whole  party.  The  first 
gust  of  the  hurricane  would  blow  us  like  straws  into  the 
nearest  crevasse.  We  decided  that  we  must  be  at  least 
half-way  across  the  glacier ;  that  if  we  turned  back  the 


UP  AND  DOWN  MONT   BLANC.  |    7 

storm  would  catcli  us  before  we  could  gain  shelter,  and 
tliat  it  was  a  mere  choice  of  dangers.  My  companion 
and  I  deliberated  for  a  moment  and  then  told  Coutet 
and  Tissay  that  we  had  determined  to  go  on.  They 
cordially  approved  our  resolution,  though  all  the  porters 
were  for  going  back.     They  were,  of  course,  overruled. 

And  then  I  witnessed  one  of  those  marvelous  in- 
stances of  canine  sagacity,  of  which  we  so  often  read 
and  which  we  so  seldom  believe. 

One  of  the  reasons  which  Tissay  had  assigned  for 
agreeing  with  us  as  to  the  desirability  of  going  on  was 
that  he  felt  convinced  that  his  dog  Bouquet  could  find 
his  way  through  the  clouds  to  the  edge  of  the  glacier, 
and  that  wherever  the  dog  could  go  we  could  follow. 
I  was  incredulous,  as  there  could  be  no  scent  on  the 
ice,  especially  as  more  than  four-and- twenty  hours  ha<l 
elapsed  since  we  had  crossed  it  the  day  before,  and  there 
was  no  probability  of  our  taking  the  same  track  to  a 
nicety.  Tissay,  however,  seemed  confident  and  asked  if 
either  of  us  had  any  letters  in  our  pockets.  We  imme- 
diately produced  some  half  a  dozen.  Selecting  the  one 
which  had  the  stoutest  envelope,  Tissay  fastened  it  se- 
curely to  the  wooden  stem  of  his  pipe,  and,  placing  it  in 
the  dog's  mouth,  he  addressed  Bouquet  in  the  demon- 
strative manner  peculiar  to  his  countrymen  when  talking 
to  animals,  and  then,  patting  him  affectionately  on  the 
head,  he  cried:  " Allcz,  Bouquet!     Allez  chcz  Mime!" 

Uttering  a  long,  low  whine,  the  dog  sprang  eagerly 
forward,  Tissay  following  close  upon  him,  Coutet  re- 

80 


4:58  THE  AMATEUK  VAGABOND. 

uiaiiiing  with  and  taking  care  of  us.  Five  minutes 
after  we  started,  the  thin  vapor  had  given  place  to 
heavy  clouds,  cold,  wet,  and  most  embarrassing,  and 
often  so  dense  that  we  could  not  see  ten  feet  ahead. 
All  we  could  do  was  to  follow  the  sound  of  Tissay's 
voice  as  he  encouraged  the  dog  or  every  now  and  then 
shouted  to  us  to  know  if  we  were  following  all  right. 
Bouquet  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  that  he  was  in 
charge  of  some  very  important  business.  Whenever 
we  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  as  the  cloud 
varied  in  density,  he  was  bounding  from  mass  to  mass, 
or  running  wildly  up  and  down  the  edge  of  some  cre- 
vasse to  find  a  spot  where  he  could  jump  across  it ;  Tis- 
say  all  the  while  cheering  him  on  with  cries  of  "  Bravo  ! 
Beau  chien  !  Allez  !  " 

Again  the  cloud  would  grow  thicker,  wetting  us  to 
the  skin  with  the  drenching  rain,  shutting  out  Tissay 
and  the  dog  from  our  view,  and  making  the  ice  fear- 
fully dangerous. 

Coutet,  all  this  while,  urged  us  on  with  passionate 
cries:  u  Courage,  messieurs !  Tin pen plus  vite.  Pour 
la  bonne  Marie,  un  peu  plus  vite-  !  Mais  plant ez  lien  vos 
talons"  And  then  he  would  exclaim,  " Prenez-garde ! 
prenez-garde  !  "  as  he  caught  one  or  the  other  of  us  by 
the  arm  when  we  slipped;  for  our  porters  were  so 
frightened  that  they  were  utterly  unable  to  render  him 
any  assistance  in  the  emergency. 

Every  moment  he  became  more  and  more  excited, 
more  anxious,  and  more  pressing  in  his  entreaties  that 


UP  AND   DOWN'   MONT   BLANO.  4.v.» 

we  should  hurry.  On  we  went,  striving  our  very  ut- 
most to  obey  his  behests,  knowing  well  our  danger  and 

that  the  only  chance  for  our  lives  was  to  get  off  the 
glacier  before  the  storm  burst ;  for  we  had  on  more 
than  one  occasion  experienced  the  fury  of  the  first  blast 
of  an  Alpine  thunder-storm. 

For  several  minutes  we  had  not  seen  Tissay,  when 
a  loud  cheer  from  him  brought  us  all  to  a  stand-still. 
He  shouted  out  triumphantly  that  we  were  on  the  right 
track  and  'within  ten  minutes  of  the  sheltering  rocks. 
He  had  found  the  light  ladder  which  we  had  left  behind 
the  previous  day,  having  concluded,  after  carrying  it  a 
short  distance,  that  we  would  not  burden  ourselves 
with  it. 

Coutet  muttered  through  his  teeth:  " Mon  Dieu  ! 
Juste  a  temps  ;  et  rien  cle  plus  !  " 

Again  with  urgent  cries  he  spurred  us  on  to  in- 
creased exertion,  using  all  his  giant  strength  to  help  us 
and  the  frightened,  fast-failing  porters  over  the  worst 
places ;  sometimes  putting  out  his  foot  for  us  to  step 
on,  thinking  that  the  leather  of  his  boot  would  be  firmer 
footing  for  us  than  the  greasy,  sloppy  ice.  At  times  he 
would  be  almost  furious  and  would  urge  us  on  with 
passionate  cries.  His  face  would  assume  an  aspect  of 
terrific  determination — determination  not  only  to  save 
his  own  life,  but  ours.  Poor  fellow  !  He  was  to  be 
married  in  the  autumn.  I  could  hear  him  grinding  his 
teeth  from  the  excitement  raging  in  his  bosom.  His 
gripe  became  vise-like,  as,  seizing  my  arm,  he  almost 


460  THE  AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

hurled  me  from  a  lower  to  higher  ledge  and  then  turned 
round  to  do  the  same  for  the  others.  And  yet,  not  for 
one  moment  did  that  noble  fellow's  arm  tremble  or  his 
nerve  falter ;  and  when  we  were  all  up  he  would  cry 
u  Allans!"  and  stride  on  to  the  next  bad  place. 

And  then,  suddenly,  we  came  upon  Tissay  and  his 
dog,  the  one  sitting  and  the  other  lying  down. 

The  thought  flashed  through  my  brain,  "  All  is  over, 
he  has  utterly  lost  the  track ;  we  must  perish." 

The  next  instant  Coutet  bounded  from  my  side,  and, 
seizing  his  hat  and  waving  it  in  the  air,  cried  out: 
"  Grace  a  Dieu  !  Nous  sommes  sauves,  malgre  tout !  " 

Yes,  we  were  at  last  safe  on  the  solid  rock ;  and, 
without  a  moment's  loss  of  time,  we  made  a  rush  over 
the  loose  rubble  and  dt-lris  lying  about  and  were  soon 
out  of  danger,  crouching  for  protection  against  the  storm 
under  a  high,  overhanging  ridge  of  rock. 

We  had  not  been  live  minutes  in  our  place  of  refuge 
when  the  storm  burst  all  around  us  with  terrific  fuiy. 
The  lightning  played  and  danced  around  us  with  appall- 
ing vividness,  the  thunder  went  crashing  and  echoing 
round  the  mountain-sides  as  though  it  would  tear  crea- 
tion itself  to  pieces,  the  rain  came  down  like  a  cataract, 
and,  blown  in  uj)on  us  by  the  eddies  of  the  gale,  poured 
down  us  in  small  rivulets.  And  then  came  one  fearful 
clap  of  thunder,  which  seemed  to  shake  even  the  solid 
bed  of  rock  on  which  we  stood,  and  down  came  the 
avalanche  with  its  rumbling,  roaring,  seething  waves  of 
snow,  ice,  rock,  and  debris,  tearing  along  like  pent-up 


UP  AND  DOWX  MONT  BLA  401 

waters  suddenly  released  and  part  of  it  streaming  over 

the  path  we  had  so  lately  traversed. 

Our  porters  told  their  beads  and  mattered  praj 
to  the  Holy  Virgin  and  their  patron  saints.  Coutet 
stood  sternly  contemplating  the  storm,  as  though  he 
would  defy  it.  Tissay  told  me,  with  tears  in  his  e; 
that,  though  he  had  been  a  guide  from  his  boyhood  and 
had  been  in  many  a  situation  of  peril,  he  had  never  be- 
fore had  so  narrow  an  escape  from  death.  He  was  con- 
vinced, he  said,  that  we  must  have  perished  but  for  the 
dog  Bouquet.  I  thought  so,  too,  and  when  I  got  to 
Geneva  I  purchased  the  most  expensive  brass  collar  I 
could  find,  had  Bouquet's  name  and  achievement  en- 
graved upon  it,  and  forwarded  it  to  his  master. 

For  nearly  an  hour  we  cowered  under  our  rocky 
shelter,  till,  at  last,  with  a  parting  burst  of  fury,  the 
storm  passed  away.  I  need  not  tell  how  eagerly  we 
pushed  on  to  the  Pierre  Pontue  and  round  its  narrow, 
overhanging  ledge,  seven  hundred  feet  above  the  glacier 
below,  scarce  wide  enough  for  the  mountain-goats,  to  the 
little  Chalet  de  la  Para. 

And  what  a  sorrowful  sight  awaited  us  when  we 
got  there !  The  inhabitants  of  the  valley  had  seen  the 
storm  gathering  long  before  we  had  and  had  also  been 
watching  us  through  telescopes,  as  is  their  custom. 
They  had  seen  us  leave  the  Grands  Mulets  and  lad 
made  sure  that  we  must  be  caught  in  the  storm.  Sev- 
eral guides  and  porters  had  at  once  hurried  up  the 
mountain  with  ropes,  ice-axes,  ladders,  and  blankets, 


±62.  THE   AMATEUR  VAGABOND. 

and  a  large  "bottle  of  cognac-brandy.  They  had  thought 
it  almost  inrpossible  that  we  could  get  off  the  glacier 
without  accident,  even  if  with  our  lives,  and  they  had 
intended  to  make  stretchers  of  the  blankets  and  lad- 
ders for  the  dead  and  injured.  They  had  just  reached 
the  chalet  when  we  arrived.  Among  them  were  the 
mothers,  Bisters,  and  sweethearts,  of  our  guides  and  por- 
ters, all  sobbing  bitterly  and  giving  vent  to  the  most 
passionate  exclamations  of  grief  and  despair. 

When  we  suddenly  appeared,  they  seemed  struck 
dumb  with  amazement  for  a  moment,  and  then  there 
was  a  scene  of  joy  which  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe. 

The  remaining  portion  of  our  descent  through  the 
pine-woods,  into  the  valley  of  Chamounix,  was  like  a 
triumphal  procession.  The  women  chatted,  laughed, 
and  cried  alternately,  frequently  kissing  the  guides  and 
porters  who  were  related  to  them  and  often  patting  us 
aj)provingly  on  the  shoulder  and  saying,  "  Bravo ! 
hravo ! "  By  the  time  we  got  down  to  the  bridge, 
there  must  have  been  three  or  four  hundred  persons 
walking  in  procession  behind  us,  cheering  and  shout- 
ing themselves  hoarse.  And/  as  our  little  cavalcade 
marched,  somewhat  proudly,  into  the  court-yard  of  the 
hotel,  the  visitors  flocked  out  to  congratulate  us  on  our 

marvelous  escape. 

"A.  P." 

THE    END. 


APPLETONS'  LIBRARY  OF  AMERICAN  FICTION. 

%*  Appletons'  Library  of  American  Fiction  consists  of  select  novels  by  American 
authors,  published  in  neat  octavo  volumes,  for  popular  circulation,  and  usually  accom- 
panied with  illustrations. 

1 .  Valerie  Aylmer.    svo.   Paper,  price,  $1.00 ;  cloth,  $1.50. 

•'  One  of  the  best  and  most  readable  novels  of  the  season.1'— Philadelphia  Post. 

"  The  story  is  of  marked  and  sustained  interest."—  Chicago  Journal. 

M  The  author  is  one  of  the  rising  and  brilliant  lights  of  American  literature.'1— Portland  Argus. 

2.  The   Lady  Of  the  Ice-     By  James  De  Mille.     With  Illustrations.     Svo. 

Paper,  price,  75  cents;  cloth,  $1.25. 
This  is  a  capital  summer-book— bright,  dashing,  and  full  of  amusing  adventure.    It  has  all 
the  vivacity  and  dash  that  made  the  author's  former  novels  so  distinguished.     Mr.  De  Mille  unites 
humorous  with  starring  description  more  successfully,  perhaps,  than  any  other  American  writer; 
ha  is  always  bright,  vitid,  dramatic,  picturesque,  and  entertaining. 

3.  Morton   House.     By  the  Author   of  "Valerie  Aylmer."      With   Illustra- 

tions.    Svo.     Paper,  price,  $1.00  ;  cloth,  $1.50. 
"For  the  sake  of  our  literature  we  trust  that  the  author  will  not  pause  in  her  new  career, 
which  certainly  opens  with  the  bravest  promise.11—  Chrisii an  Union. 

"  There  is  "intense  power  in  many  of  the  scenes.'1— A<?m;  York  Evening  Mail. 
"  Marked  by  great  force  and  originality.11—  Philadelphia  Age. 

4.  Righted  at  Last.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.     Svo.    Paper,  $1  ;  cloth,  |1. 50. 

"Intensely  interesting  from  beginning  to  end.1' — St.  Loads  Rejrublican. 

"An  interesting  story^of  New  England  life.11— Portland  Transcript. 

11  Her  book  is  more  than  readable;  in  many  parts  it  is  fascinating.11— New  Haven  Courier. 

"  Never  devoid  of  interest.11— Nashville  Union. 

5.  Mabel   Lee.      By  the  Author   of  "Morton  House"  and  "Valerie  Aylmer." 

With  Illustrations.     8vo.     Paper,  price,  $1.00;  cloth,  $1.50. 

M  A  story  of  absorbing  interest.11 — St.  Louis  Republican. 

"A  tale  "of  vivid  interest ;  full  of  natural,  striking  characterization.11—  Banner  of  the  South. 

"The  story  is  one  of  thrilling  interest.11— New  York  Express. 

"  A  capital  picture  of  Southern  society.11— Boston  Gazette. 

6.  Doctor  Vandyke,      A   Novel.      By  John  Esten  Cooke.     With  Illustra- 

tions.     One  vol.,  Svo.     Paper,  75  cents ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  John  Esten  Cooke  has  made  us  again  his  debtor  by  the  excellent  story  of '  Doctor  Vandyke.1 " 
—Home  Journal. 

"  Mr.  Cooke  delisrhts  to  recall  the  old  days  of  Virginia's  colonial  features.11— Literary  World. 
"  This  is  a  well-conceived  story  of  colonial  life  in  Virginia. 

7.  Ebb'Tide.     A  Xovel.    By  Christian  Reid.   Author  of  "  Valerie  Aylmer,"  etc. 

"'  Ebb-Tide1  is  a  story  of  power  and  pathos,  and  will  be  much  admired.11— Boston  Com' with. 

"  Scenes  and  incidents  "portrayed  with  skill.11— Boston  Traveller. 

"  The  plot  is  interesting  and  well  developed,  and  the  style  is  spirited  and  clear."— Boston  Gaz. 

8.  An  Open  Question. 

M  It  is  a  very  lively  and  pleasant  book,  and  is  profusely  illustrated.11— TVoy  Budget. 

"It  is  a  spicy,  readable  book.'1—  Toledo  Commercial. 

"Of  all  the  novels  of  this  writer,  this  can  claim  the  right  of  preeminence.'"— Inter-Ocean. 

9.  Spicy.'  A  Novel.    By  Mrs.  M.  J.  Lamb.    8vo.    Illus.    Paper,  $1.00;  cloth,  $1. 50. 

"This  storyis  exceedingly  entertaining  and  highly  creditable  to  the  author.11— Golden  Age. 
"  An  exceptional  refinement  pervades  this  storv.  plot,  incidents,  and  personages.1'— Phila.  Age. 
"It  is,  emphatically,  a  spicy  novel.11— Hampshire  Gazette. 

10.  Lakevilie;  or,  Substance  and  Shadow.   By Maby,Healt. 

"  One  of  the  best  and  most  elaborate  novels  of  the  season.11— Philadelphia  Age. 

|  A  very  entertaining  story,  with  several  remarkably  well-drawn  characters."11— Boston  Globe. 

"  It  is  written  by  the  daughter  of  the  eminent  portrait-painter."—  Chicago  Post. 

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